No Light Without Shadows
by Draeconin
Summary: After his godfather falls through the Veil, an angry Harry starts taking charge of his life. Slash Permanent Hiatus
1. Chapter 1

**_No Light Without Shadows _**

by Draeconin

**CAUTION: **Although 22 chapters of this story are written, it is not complete, and probably never will be. Read at your own risk.**  
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**Rating:** Adult  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>Harry/Draco  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> m/m, slash, language, fantasy, OOC  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This disclaimer applies to all following chapters.  
>Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copywrited 2007 with all rights expressly reserved by its author unless explicitly granted. No portion may be reproduced in any fashion without the express written and notarized permission of the author.<p>

**Summary:** An angry Harry starts taking charge of his life.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

Harry Potter was totally pissed, as in being so coldly angry, that . . . well, it seemed as though he'd never seen things more clearly in his life. Unfortunately, every detail just drove in deeper the fact that he'd been blind.

He'd been sunk in total despair after losing his godfather in the Ministry of Magic when Bella Lestrange had hexed her cousin, and Sirius had fallen through the Veil Between the Worlds.1 That mood had continued for almost a week into his summer 'holiday' at the Dursleys: a week of guilt, self-recrimination and depression. But then he'd remembered all the other people who'd contributed to Sirius' death: Bellatrix Lestrange at the top of that list, since it had been her spell that had caused Sirius – Harry's last chance at family – to fall through: and then Voldemort, for obvious reasons. It was he, after all, who had sent Harry the false 'vision' that Siruis had been captured and was being tortured at the Ministry. Then there were Kreacher's lies when he'd tried to find out if Sirius was home. And Snape and Dumbledore were far from being innocent, although their involvement was less direct – a matter of not doing what needed doing, rather than direct involvement.

Him? No, Harry wasn't guiltless, but he'd been duped and used – by both sides. Snape's hateful, acidic tongue, his contrary attitude and obstinate refusal to believe anything that came out of Harry's mouth, and Dumbledore's love of riddles and keeping secrets, even of information which rightfully belonged to others: those were factors that had helped lead to Sirius' death. It had only taken him a few hours after he'd started thinking about it to come to that conclusion, and then he'd started thinking about what he could have done to prevent what had happened.

It all came down to knowledge. And Harry had not only been kept in the dark by others, but had been happy to just coast along and let others make his decisions for him, including his so-called 'best friends': Ron, who wanted a skiving buddy – and although he could be a very good friend, Ron was also a jealous attention-seeker basking in the perceived glory of Harry's unwanted celebrity status, and academically lazy as well. His reaction after Harry's name came out of the Goblet of Fire in fourth year had certainly pointed up Ron's less sterling feelings about Harry.

And then there was Hermione, who wanted to mother the poor, orphaned 'Boy Who Lived' and, perhaps, build up her own ego in the process. Low self-esteem would certainly explain why she was so driven to prove herself scholastically and show off that knowledge at every turn. And although she too could be a good friend and had been willing – insistent, even – to follow him into danger, she had a bad habit of throwing those adventures up in his face, questioning his every move, his every decision – even, at times, his emotions.

And he, fool that he was, had played up to both of them, putting their wants and needs above his own, just to gain acceptance. He was grateful for their putting their lives on the line in support of him at the Ministry of Magic, but look what effacing himself _had_ gained him: the last family he had was now dead. Well it ended now, damn it. He might not be able to force others to keep him informed, but he could bloody well keep himself as best educated as possible, and he could also bloody well stop cooperating with Dumbledore until he _was_ kept informed. The Sorting Hat had said he had a good mind. It was about time he started using it.

Harry would have subscribed to one of the wizarding news publications to keep abreast of events, but the only ones that were the least bit reliable only covered subjects totally unrelated to any real news of the wizarding world. The Daily Prophet was too easily manipulated by whoever had power (usually of the political variety), and had no problem with printing lies and slander. The Quibbler usually only printed celebrity gossip and nonsense, Witch Weekly only really dealt with things of interest to homemakers and teenage girls, and Which Broomstick was only of use to those interested in Quidditch and the newest broomsticks.

With new resolve, Harry snuck down to the cupboard under the stairs – his old room, now serving as storage for his school trunk since the Dursleys wanted no truck with 'freakish things' while he was being forced upon them – and dug his old school books out of it, as well as his wand. He might not be able to actually do the spells and exercises due to the Ministry of Magic's ban on underage magic out of school, but he could practise the wand movements.

Once back in his room, Harry hid all but his first-year DADA book under his bed, opened the book, and started revising. Two hours later he'd finished going through that book, having found – no surprise to him – that there was much more in it than Quirrel had even begun to try to teach. Fortunately he'd picked up most of the missed material from older pupils over the years, so he didn't need to spend a lot of time on that book. He put it with the others and pulled out his first year Charms book, then later, his first year Transfigurations book. He could more or less ignore those things he remembered learning, so he went through the books fairly quickly, pausing only to study those things he either didn't remember well, or hadn't been taught.

He didn't notice at the time, but he received few owls from anyone but the school that summer, the few others coming on his birthday, and the owl from the Ministry Department of Education had arrived only three weeks before start of term, delivering his marks from last year. He felt a dull surprise that he'd done so well on his Ordinary Wizarding Levels. Choices for sixth year courses depended on the OWLs results. Knowing those now, Harry made some preliminary choices for the courses he'd be taking this coming year. He'd have to go over those choices with his Head of House when he actually got back to Hogwarts, though. There might even be some new subjects he could take.

The first thing Harry decided to do was to drop Divination. Besides having received a 'Poor' in it, it was a waste of time; and Trelawney, for the most part, had been a joke. He'd only taken it to please Ron, who as usual was trying to find a way to do as little school work as possible. _Dumbledore will find something to fill in the time,_ he thought bitterly. But then, Trelawney had been sacked, last term. Firenze had taken the position. Harry shook his head. No, even if having a centaur as a lecturer would be interesting, the subject took time he needed for other things, and he could see no useful purpose to it. He hadn't passed Divination anyway, so he didn't have to worry about it: same with History of Magic. After careful consideration he also decided to drop Astronomy, and Herbology. He didn't want to drop Care of Magical Creatures because it would provide a change of pace in relation to his other courses, and he rather liked animals.

Other than Care of Magical Creatures, that would leave him with Charms, Defence against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Transfiguration – courses that he rather thought would provide skills he'd need both in his upcoming battle with Voldemort, and in everyday life . . . provided he lived to enjoy it. Amongst the other classes that were offered to sixth and seventh years were two that Harry thought he truly needed: Government, and Introductory Healing. After a slight hesitation, he also added Ancient Runes. It wouldn't be NEWT level, since he hadn't taken it before, but he could see where the knowledge might come in handy.

He checked off those classes he was interested in, and sent the form off to Hogwarts with Hedwig. It wasn't guaranteed that he'd get all the classes he wanted though, depending on Professor McGonagall as his advisor, and Headmaster Dumbledore's machinations.

Harry had decided early on that if he lived, he'd rather like to be an Auror. He scoffed at that early decision, now. It was just like the dreams of Muggle boys to grow up to be policemen, firemen, or other everyday heroes, although he reluctantly admitted to himself that the constant attacks on his life **had** rather pressured him in that direction. After all he'd been through, though, Harry could now see the detrimental aspects of that occupation, not the least of which was the Ministry of Magic itself. He didn't know what he _did_ want to do, however.

Harry shrugged. He'd worry about that if he lived through the war.

Fortunately the Dursleys had decided, that summer, to ignore the very fact of his existence. Harry assisted in that by taking his meals late at night.

His birthday came and went with as little notice as it usually got; Molly Weasley owled him a small cake, Ron sent him a copy of that month's 'Which Broomstick' and a chocolate frog, and Hermione sent him a book on wizarding etiquette.

Although Harry would be amongst the first to admit that he didn't know much about wizarding culture, having Hermione send him a book on manners felt like a backhanded insult. The note she sent with it did little to soften the blow. Harry rather thought she needed it at least as much as he did, considering her tendency towards authoritarianism.

The Dursleys had never gone to the trouble of giving him a birthday gift: couldn't be bothered to remember the date, most likely. In fact the only time he'd got _anything_ from them was at Christmas, and those weren't worth thinking about: a wire hanger, a toothpick, a worn-out pair of socks, dryer lint, or other such rubbish. Getting nothing from them was an improvement.

Harry was too busy to notice when the time for the Weasleys to come pick him up for the last two weeks of summer hols came and went without them showing up. Indeed, it was probably best, so. His resentment of Ron would have made it a most difficult stay, and the distractions would have interfered with his revising in any case.

Instead, Shacklebolt and Tonks had shown up to escort him a week later. But knowing that someone would soon be coming to take him to Diagon Alley, he had already stealthily moved everything but the book he was currently reading into his school trunk, making sure to lock it securely each time he left it. His wand, on the other hand, he kept on himself at all times. He couldn't use it due to the underage magic ban, but he didn't want to take any chances of Dudley or Vernon prying open his trunk and breaking it, should he be discovered in his activities.

By the time Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks arrived, Harry had finished revising all the books from his previous years, save second year DADA. Lockhart's books were stolen accounts of deeds done by others that the vain, incompetent man had claimed for himself. There was little of use in any of them anyway, being mostly braggadocio. Harry chucked them in the bin, trusting that one of his Order guards would dispose of them properly when the bin was emptied, but he didn't really care one way or another. Harry wondered if Dumbledore was incapable of admitting to making a mistake or of firing incompetents.

He hadn't learned much of anything in fifth year DADA from Umbridge – except to hate the woman – and the textbook was remarkably simplistic and uninformative, as well. It joined the Lockhart books, although Harry did take great pleasure in ripping out and mutilating every page, first, imagining each one was the sadistic, toad-like woman as he did so.

Potions... Well, if Harry had actually read the assigned books instead of skiving off with Ron and trying to depend on lectures and Hermione, he would have had a much easier time of it all these years. He now had a much better understanding of the subject. He hadn't been able to revise all the potions they'd studied in the time he had (only a couple of them before he'd decided he didn't have time to study anything but the theory), but he now knew enough to be able to _understand_ what he was doing instead of merely following directions and hoping for the best, as he had been.

How he had achieved an 'O' in that subject...

Harry didn't believe it: not for a moment. He remembered that testing session. It almost had to be interference from Bumbledoor – the old fool.

The aurors had noticed Harry's mood, of course. Shacklebolt left Harry alone, for which Harry was duly grateful, since he wasn't in the mood to be sociable. Tonks, however, tried several times to 'cheer him up' before finally giving in and respecting Harry's silence. They stopped by Gringotts so Harry could get the money he needed. Tonks and Shacklebolt stood off at a small distance in order to better survey the other patrons for signs of danger.

"Mister Potter," one of the ugly little goblins sneered in business-like tones after Harry had identified himself at the counter, "you have finally decided to appear, I see."

A confused Harry stared blankly at the teller. "I _do_ have to buy school supplies," he replied.

It was the goblin's turn to be nonplussed. "You are not here to receive your inheritance?" he almost growled.

"Inheritance?" Harry echoed blankly. "What inheritance?"

Inspecting the ledgers in front of him, the little being then looked back up and said, "You have just had your sixteenth birthday, have you not?"

"Yes," Harry replied cautiously, wondering what was happening.

"And a Mister . . ." The goblin paused while it again checked the ledger, more for effect than for any need to refresh his memory. ". . .Sirius Black was your godfather?"

"Yes," Harry replied in the same manner he had before.

"Then," the small being said, stepping to one side and opening a cleverly concealed door in the counter, "if you will step into Grabpokits office, we have some papers you need to sign, and some decisions for you to make."

Kingsley came forward quickly as Harry moved towards the door, Tonks following closely behind him.

"Mister Potter?" Kingsley inquired.

"An inheritance?" Harry said in a bewildered fashion, in reply.

"I'm afraid the details are confidential," the goblin inserted officiously.

"Quite," Shacklebolt replied, looking askance at Harry about the whole thing, "but you will allow standard security precautions?" he continued, when it became clear that Harry had no answers to give them.

The goblin bowed its head in a mocking gesture of respect, and gestured for the aurors to precede them. Kingsley made a thorough physical and magical inspection of the office under the watchful eyes of both the denizen of that office and the counter goblin while Tonks stood guard over Harry, then he and Tonks took up guard stations outside it while Harry was ushered in.

A bit over two hours later Harry walked out of Grabpokits' office with a very strange expression on his face: a dazed mixture of sadness, anger, and astonishment. But when asked, Harry only said he'd learnt far more than he'd expected to learn.

Privately he had checked off a huge red checkmark against Dumbledore. Since the old man had been handling his financial affairs, he had to have known about this. And he had kept it to himself – after swearing, last year, to keep no more secrets from him! Harry's Gryffindor side wanted to confront the old man immediately and create all kinds of havoc with the meddling old man. But his Slytherin side won out, deciding that secrets could work two ways, and Harry knowing things Dumbledore didn't know he knew gave Harry an advantage. He would use the knowledge when it was most advantageous to _him_.

Harry _had_, of course, removed Albus Dumbledore from having anything whatsoever to do with his finances or managing his vaults, but had asked Grabpokits to not inform the Hogwarts headmaster of the fact until it became absolutely necessary. Harry assuming the mantle of the Head of the families Potter and Black had also automatically moved him from the status of 'minor' to that of 'adult' a year early, so Dumbledore had no authority over him in that regard, either.

Harry wondered when Sirius had performed the adoption ritual that had made him eligible to assume the headship of Family Black – and why it hadn't been necessary for him to be present for it. Of course if he _had_ been present, it would have had to be while he was a baby.

Harry spent another two hours touring and inspecting his vaults. A good part of one hour alone was spent poring over two family tree tapestries in two different vaults. Other contents of those same vaults would warrant further investigation, as they contained much more than money and fine furnishings. The Black vault had more objects in it than money, but Harry was going to have to learn some spell-breaking techniques to be able to handle some of those things. They had a feeling of malevolence about them.

He'd been surprised to find a few things in the Potter vault that felt Dark, but only a couple of those had the feeling of malevolence he'd found in the Black vault. It just went to show, he supposed, that no family was all good or all bad. Harry hadn't expected to find evidence of a dark side in his own family, but he guessed he shouldn't have put them on a pedestal, either.

But then Harry noticed that he was getting hungry. It was getting on in the day, so he took out the small 'bottomless' pouch he'd been given by the bank official, at a small cost (goblins rarely gave _anything_ away), and proceeded to put Galleons in it: much more than he had ever taken out before.

Since Tonks and Shacklebolt were waiting for Harry in the lobby far above, they were unaware of this.

When Harry met up with the two aurors, he told them that he'd just got carried away reading some things in his new vault. He then insisted on treating them to lunch, since it was about that time.

While they were eating, Tonks rather badgered Harry with questions about his unexpected windfall: questions which Harry dodged as well as he was able, admitting only to receiving the Potter Family vault. He'd had enough of people prying into his life, and since the aurors had been out of earshot when the counter goblin had mentioned Sirius...

Unfortunately, by the time lunch was over Harry's patience was spent, his previous smoldering anger had returned, and he was being barely civil.

They picked up all the books and supplies listed for the courses that Harry had decided he wanted to continue with, along with a few other books. At the apothecary, Harry bought two smocks for use in Potions, and extra potions supplies at the apothecary – explaining, when asked, that he was going to catch up on his potions education and study harder for the upcoming fight with Voldemort. True enough, but not all of the truth. He didn't think they'd be happy with the idea of Dumbledore's 'Golden Boy' deciding to cut the apron strings.

"I need new robes," Harry told his escorts curtly, heading across the street to Madam Malkin's. Along with everything else, Harry had realised when the Aurors picked him up that the Weasleys hadn't shown, not having really missed them until then. Not that he really wanted to see Ron anyway, but the realisation that he'd been abandoned tasted bitter in his mouth. It was just one more thing to sour his mood, and without conscious volition, he was letting the world know it.

"Harry!" Tonks exclaimed in annoyance as Harry stepped into the street, intent on his destination across the way.

Harry turned, his brow furrowed, his own annoyance plain. "Yes?"

"Could you _please_ try to be a little more rude?"

Harry blinked. Was he being...? Yes. He was. And these two really didn't deserve it. His cheeks pinked a bit. "Sorry, Tonks – Auror Shacklebolt."

"We all have off days, Mister Potter," Kingsley replied expressionlessly, not giving away his feelings on the matter.

"Are you ready to talk about it, Harry?" Tonks asked, her tone gentle now.

Harry shook his head. "Nothing you can do about it. Sorry about taking it out on the two of you, though. But I _do_ need new robes . . . and maybe some other clothes, as well."

He had meant all along, before they'd ever set foot in Diagon Alley, to get some better clothes to wear than Dudley's cast-offs, but he still didn't think his babysitters (as he'd been thinking of them) needed to know that. But now he knew he could afford more and far better quality clothing than he'd have felt comfortable getting, before. In fact he needn't worry about prices at all. If what the goblins had told him was true, he was quite wealthy, albeit not on the same scale as the Malfoys or a few other families.

Tonks accepted his reply. She'd have liked to pry, but knew that you couldn't force Harry to open up about his emotional issues. He had to do it in his own time, if he did it at all.

"Then let's get you outfitted," she replied, forcing a cheery tone. She hooked an arm through Harry's, ignoring Shacklebolt's look of disapproval, and steered a course to the clothier's.

After being thoroughly measured, Harry ordered three sets of fine linen summer robes, three sets of warm Merino wool winter robes – both with the appropriate under-robes – and two heavy black cloaks: all for school. That out of the way, he ordered two sets of dress robes: one set in a dark forest green and old gold, and one in a dark burgundy and tarnished silver. From there he moved on to trousers: six pairs in black, and six pairs in various tasteful colours, button-down shirts: twenty-four in a wide range of colours in fine linen and silk, six cashmere jumpers, and two heavy, waterproof cloaks, one having ornate embroidery.

Harry depended heavily on Madam Malkin's advice for the styles and colours he bought, but he paid close attention to her explanations of what would look good on him and why. Almost as an afterthought he picked up two dozen pair of underwear in three form-fitting styles (anything loose could wrinkle or bunch up, spoiling the drape of his clothes), a dozen pairs of dress socks, a dozen pairs of black wool socks, and a dozen pairs of white cotton socks.

Spells obviated the need for a hat, but his hair was rather recognisable, so he bought the least ornate one they had. A more worldly person might have recognised it as having a slight resemblance to an Australian oilskin hat of the Rainier variety, although it was made of Norwegian Ridgeback hide, the brim was wider, and it had a wide, gold-coloured headband with large red feathers stuck in it along one side.

Harry bought two shirts and a pair of trousers that fit fairly well off the rack to wear out of the shop, and to have a change. Everything else would be tailored and delivered to Hogwarts at start of term. Madam Malkin, who had insisted on waiting on 'The Boy Who Lived' herself, held up his old clothes between thumb and forefinger, as though afraid of being contaminated by them.

"What should I do with these, Mister Potter?" Her voice clearly conveyed her distaste.

Harry looked at her and nearly burst out laughing at her expression. "Burn them?" he suggested, grinning at her.

Instead, she drew her wand and vanished them. "Will there be anything else, Mister Potter?" Her voice was much warmer, now.

Harry looked around the shop. "I don't see shoes, or boots?"

"May I suggest The Leather Shoppe, just down the street?" she replied.

"What is it called?" he inquired.

"The Leather Shoppe," she repeated.

"That's right," Harry replied, as though she'd asked a question, and eyed Tonks strangely. She seemed to have suddenly developed a bad case of the giggles, and Shacklebolt was smirking from his position at the door of the shop.

"That _is_ its name, Mister Potter," Madam Malkin said patiently, the corners of her lips curling in amusement.

Harry blushed in embarrassment. "Oh." After a moment of awkward silence, he said, "Thank you."

"Quite all right, Mister Potter."

"What does this all come to, please?" Harry asked, to change the subject.

After settling his bill they set off to The Leather Shoppe. On the way it occurred to Harry to ask, "You've both spent all day with me; are you being paid?"

"Glad to do it, Harry," Tonks replied.

Which meant they weren't. They were taking their free time to guard him. But Harry knew better than to offer to pay them; they would refuse, saying it was their 'duty'. Well, there were ways around that.

The Leather Shoppe had many different styles of shoes and boots made of several types of hide, but it also carried leather clothing and accessories, dragon-hide armour, and magic-enhanced rucksacks. Looking about, Harry decided that the three pair of footwear he'd been planning on had just expanded to include quite a few other things. And looking at the rucksacks reminded him that the trunk he'd been using for the last five years was too worn and limited. He'd have to replace it, but that looked to be yet another shop, and he'd already taken up too much of Kingsley's and Tonks' time. All right, then: he had every intention of staying at The Leaky Cauldron instead of returning to the Dursleys anyway, so he'd come back later – perhaps tomorrow. But he needed to hide that fact from his guards for now, so he'd go through with his original plan.

When he left the shop he had a pair of black patent-leather shoes for school, a pair of over-the-calf, leg hugging dragon-hide boots, and a pair of running shoes.

"It's getting late and it's been a long day, so may I treat you both to supper at The Leaky Cauldron?" Harry asked. "I insist, actually; it's the least I can do."

Tonks took him up on the offer, but Kingsley begged off, explaining that his wife was expecting him. That suited Harry just fine: one less person to have to argue with, and Tonks might be easier to convince, anyway.

When they entered the establishment, Harry seated Tonks at a table close enough to the fire to be comfortable, but far enough away from its light that he might not be as noticeable to the other patrons while they ate.

"What would you like?" he asked Tonks. In deference to the atmosphere and time of day, she was changing her hair colour from its former violent pink to a more sedate dark blue.

"Fish and chips, mushy peas, and a pint of dark?" she replied.

"You're easy to please," Harry teased, then he went up to the bar. It sounded more like a lunch order than supper to him, but if it kept her happy...

"Hello, Tom," Harry said, greeting the manager. "What's on the menu tonight?"

"Hello, Harry," the man replied jovially. "How does chops, bubble and squeak, and spotted dick sound to yuh? 'Course, we c'n also whip up just about anything else yuh'd like."2

"Mm, that sounds good for me, but my companion would like fish and chips, mushy peas, and a pint of dark. I'll stick with butterbeer, thank you."

"As you like it, Harry," the man said easily, sending the order back to the kitchen.

"And I'd like a room until term starts, please," Harry added.

Tom raised an eyebrow slightly, but he was a businessman; he wasn't going to turn away custom. "Just fer yerself?" he asked.

"Yes, please."

Tom turned around and took a key off the board at the back. "Number five is at the end of the corridor: nice and quiet," he said, holding the key out to Harry.

Harry took the key and pocketed it. "Thank you, Tom." He slid four ten-Galleon pieces to the man.3 "To settle the tab," he said. "And keep the change. I appreciate the privacy, here." It was well over twice what he would owe, including the price of the meals and drinks, but the money would also ensure that Tom said nothing about Harry staying there to anyone else. Harry was fairly sure the man would have been discrete anyway, but a little extra insurance never hurt.

Tom almost looked offended by the overcompensation, but he took the money anyway. Business hadn't been all that good, lately.

Harry returned to the table with the drinks. "Tom said it wouldn't be long," he told Tonks as he sat down.

"You didn't really think I wouldn't see that, did you, Harry?" she asked, before taking her first drink of the beer.

Harry shrugged. "Not really, no," he replied, following suit. "Besides which, you'd have to know before you left, because I'm not going back to the Dursleys."

"Dumbledore wants you at the Muggles' for—"

"For my own safety," Harry said, interrupting. "Tell me, Tonks, how do blood wards work?"

Tonks looked rather bewildered at the seeming change of subject. "Excuse me?"

"Between family members," he explained, "what do they work on?"

"Familial love and loyalty, most of them," the young auror replied, suspicion in her eyes. What was Harry up to?

Harry sat back, a look of smug triumph on his face. "Then, if they're still in existence at all, those fabled blood wards that are supposed to keep me safe at the Dursleys' would be almost useless. That being so, my presence there will do damn-all to protect _anyone_."

Tonks was so used to taking Dumbledore on faith that such a thing had never occured to her, and yet from her own observations of the workings of that family, it should have been obvious. On the other hand, surely Dumbledore had seen the problem and dealt with it?

Torn, Tonks leant forward over the table. "Dumbledore isn't going to be best pleased about this," she warned him in a low voice.

Harry leant forward to her again and looked her straight in the eye. "I don't much care," he replied, "but I _would_ appreciate it if you could retrieve Hedwig and my trunk from those Muggles' house. I packed everything but what I absolutely needed before you showed up."

"And if I don't?" she challenged.

Harry looked hard at her. "There's always the Knight Bus," he said in low, tense tones. Then, trying to sway her to his plan, he added, "I could have pretended to return and then taken the Knight Bus here with nobody the wiser. This way, you know where I am."

"We could block the Knight Bus," Tonks said, testing Harry's resolve.

"You'd just force me to take other measures," he replied coldly, his eyes like green ice now, "and I'd have to find somewhere else to stay – somewhere that might not be as safe."

Surprised to the point of being shocked, Tonks sat back and regarded him. As she did, she noted changes about Harry that she had overlooked before due to her familiarity with him. Harry's face had become less child-like. It wasn't yet as lean as she thought it was likely to be as a full adult, but the promise of his adult looks were beginning to shine through. Harry's eyes were harder as well – more worldly-wise. And she remembered how he'd acted in his interactions with others that day.

She had a momentary twinge of jealousy for whoever this boy – no, young man – finally wound up with. Somehow though, she rather thought that someone wouldn't be a female. Harry didn't have a single hint of softness or femininity about his manner, but there was an ineffable quality that said 'gay'. Maybe it was the way he _didn't_ look at her, or any female they'd run across. There was no hint of want or lust towards them – no hint of interest beyond the purely casual.

"You've grown," she commented quietly.

Harry gave a slight shrug. "I'm about five foot seven, now," he replied. At just barely sixteen, Harry still had the potential for growth: perhaps another three or four inches.

Tonks shook her head. "No, that's not what I meant. I noticed you were taller when we called for you. No, what I meant was that you've matured."

"Losing someone you love can do that to you," Harry said, his quiet voice tinged with bitterness.

Tom arrived right then with their meals. After he'd set them down and gone back to his station behind the bar, they started eating, an uncomfortable silence settling between them. Tonks continued to observe Harry as they ate, and Harry pretended not to notice.

"All right," Tonks finally said, breaking the silence between them just as they were nearing the end of their meal, "I'll let you do it."

_'As though you could stop me,'_ Harry thought rebelliously. All the same, he was relieved that he wouldn't have to take more extreme measures.

"But I expect you to continue to check in with the Order every other day," she continued, "just as you were doing at your aunt and uncle's. And I'll be coming by to check on you every so often, too. If I can't make it, I'll send someone else. And if you miss just once..." She left the threat hanging in mid-air.

Harry resented the restrictions and having someone checking up on him, but it was better than having the Order organise a manhunt if he just went missing. He nodded his agreement to the terms.

She patted her lips with the napkin provided, then stood up and came around the table to where Harry was seated, leant over, and planted a kiss on top of his head. "Remember, now – an owl every other day," she admonished.

"Yes, mother," Harry said in a sarcastic tone.

Tonks lightly clipped the back of his head. "Cheeky," she said with a little laugh, then gave Harry a quick hug and walked out. She didn't notice Harry's lack of humour over the situation – she didn't look.

Harry took his shoes and other packages up to his room, locked the door, then slipped off his worn-out trainers and bunged them in the bin before digging this year's DADA book out of his school supplies. He looked at it, then reconsidered and got out the Potions textbook instead, before climbing on the bed and starting to read.

A couple of hours later, Mundungus Fletcher delivered Harry's trunk, and Hedwig in her cage. Harry thanked him, let Hedwig out, and opened a window for her. Then when the man was gone, he thoroughly searched through his trunk. Fortunately everything was there, so he petted and talked to Hedwig for a while before he went back to perusing this year's potions book.

Really – what were they thinking, entrusting a known thief with his belongings?

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~o

A/N: A Galleon is worth £5 pounds according to JKR. As of this writing, 3/18/2006, that makes a Galleon worth $8.78 dollars US or €7.20 Euros.  
>1: Between this world and the "otherworld" – presumably the world of the dead<br>2: chops (pork, lamb, or mutton), bubble and squeak (usually fried potatoes and cabbage, but can contain any left-over vegetables), spotted dick (suet pudding, usually with currants)  
>3: Although JKR never mentions such a piece of currency, it doesn't make sense to me to only have single-Galleon pieces for large currency.<p>

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~o

A 'thank you' goes out to my betas: Sheree, Ishe Leigh, and Julie. And special thanks to Andrew, for helping me correct my Americanisms.


	2. Chapter 2

**_No Light Without Shadows_**

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Two**

"Well, well, well. . . . You clean up nicely, Potty. Now if you'd only do something about that haystack hair and those—"

Harry's hand pressing into Draco's throat as he slammed the Slytherin into a convenient wall put an end to the sneering tones.

"I'm in no mood to listen to your drivel, Malfoy," Harry hissed, unmindful of any passers-by.

Although fear filled his eyes, Draco wasn't about to give in so easily. "What would your friends say about your behaviour, Potty?" he sneered with what breath he had. The thought of drawing his wand flitted through his mind, but he didn't fancy his chances.

"Ask me if I care, _Mal_foy."

"I don't think I will," was the blond's faintly defiant reply.

"That's very _good_. Now I shan't have to mess up those oh-so-kissable lips, will I?" With those words Harry briefly leant more into Draco's throat as a warning, then turned and continued on his way, cursing his loose tongue, and yet finding it strangely liberating to have finally said _something_. He didn't see the shock that entered the blond's still-frightened eyes.

Harry had been on his way back to The Leather Shoppe after having had a very satisfying, if somewhat ordinary breakfast when his arch-rival had accosted him. Why Malfoy was alone was a mystery, though. The blond was almost _never_ alone, following along with his father or having one or more of his Slytherin cronies along.

Seeing nobody looking, Harry surreptitiously re-adjusted his semi-erection to be more comfortable until it subsided.

Draco, for his part, was staring after Harry, rubbing his throat where Harry had been pressing into it, and cursing his own body for its betrayal. Not only had he got hard when Harry was pressed up against him – something he wouldn't have minded had it been almost any other boy (well, any of a select few, anyway, although he was usually the one doing the pressing) – he was feeling flushed and breathless. It was just a fluke. It had to be. He _didn't_ want Harry-bloody-Potter. And he was going to prove it.

He tried to forget knowing that Potter was now definitely on the 'available' list.

Once at The Leather Shoppe, the first thing Harry did was look at the rucksacks. He picked out one made of a thick durable leather, dyed British racing green. The rucksack had four compartments, only the two smallest of which didn't have expanded space inside. He then picked out a knee-length dragonhide duster1 made from Peruvian Vipertooth (copper-coloured), a pair of dragonhide trousers made from the Swedish Short-Snout (a silvery blue), and a sleeveless dragonhide shirt made from the Antipodean Opaleye (an iridescent white). With that ensemble he'd both look stylish, and be well protected from spells up through the medium strength range. It wouldn't stop anything over that strength, but the effects would be muted to one extent or another.

Upon reflection, he decided to get a suit of battle armour. It wasn't pretty, but Ukrainian Ironbelly could protect a person, at least for a while, from everything but the Killing Curse. He hoped he'd never need it, but if he did... The armour, actually a set of dragonhide trousers, waistcoat, robe with hood, and boots, would take approximately a month to be ready, since each set was individually made and tailored to order. Harry had asked about having protection spells cast on it, but was told that dragonhide was a protection against spells because it had a tendency to reflect them – not a good material for any spell to affect.

He'd felt quite foolish, afterward.

The serious out of the way, Harry picked out a couple of wide, stunningly and beautifully worked belts that would wear very well with his dress robes or a tunic, three very soft, split-leather pigskin shirts that fit like a glove, and two pair of leather trousers – one brown, one black – that were also skin tight: both shirts and trousers were spelled to give maximum range of movement and allow the skin to breathe. He also saw some more risqué things, such as a pair of trousers that from the knee up were laced together because they hadn't any sides to them, but decided he wasn't ready to go that far quite yet.

After ensuring that his purchases would be delivered, sans the rucksack, one pigskin shirt the colour of dried blood, and the black leather trousers which he took with, he started on his way to Gringotts.

Once at the bank he transferred twenty Galleons each to Tonks and Shacklebolt, then spent the rest of the morning in the Potter and Black family records vaults (mostly the former). He decided to leave the book vault, which also held quite a few artefacts, for another time. He was rather surprised to find that Sirius was a cousin, albeit not that closely related: which meant, by extension, that Narcissa, and therefore Malfoy... Well, they weren't closely enough related to have to acknowledge them . . . were they? Then there were Andromeda and Nymphadora Tonks, since Andromeda was Narcissa's sister.

Harry steadfastly ignored the fact of the third of those sisters. That one was dead, as soon as he could arrange it.

Knowing that most of Britain's wizarding population were related to one extent or another, Harry mentally girded his loins and made up his mind to trace down all of his relations. At long last Harry felt he was gaining roots in the world he was supposed to save, and he wasn't about to give that up, no matter how uncomfortable it made him

After a break for lunch, Harry again returned to the vaults. When his stomach told him it was time for supper he left reluctantly, but took a few things with him.

_'What would your friends say...'_

_'Ask me if I care.'_

Draco had been so focused on the way Harry had manhandled him, and worrying over his sexual response to it (never mind Potter's comment about his lips) that it had taken awhile for the implications of that small part of their exchange to come to his attention.

_Trouble in paradise?_ Draco thought. _What happened that The Golden Boy has had a falling out with the Trio? _

Draco shook himself. Why the ruddy hell should _he_ care? The git had got his father, and some of his friends' fathers put in Azkaban! Although he did wonder what it had all been about. Why had they all been in the Department of Mysteries in the first place, let alone after hours?

But if Potter, the Weasel and the Mudblood weren't on good terms any longer, there might be an angle there to turn it to his advantage. Potter would be more vulnerable now, for a start.

Without realising it, Draco brooded on 'the Potter problem' all day, and throughout a late supper. He took a walk afterward.

Draco saw the Git-Who-Lived sauntering towards The Leaky Cauldron – again on his own. That morning's incident played itself before his mind's eye once again, and his temper flared. He started off after the dark-haired Gryffindor.

Harry entered his room at The Leaky Cauldron, looking forward to doing some reading and then having a good night's rest, but the door was ripped from his hand as he went to close it. At the same time, Harry was shoved across the room, falling across the double-wide bed, and heard the door slam. Someone had followed him! Even as he heard locking and silencing charms being cast he was dragging his wand out, rolling over, and orienting himself on his as-yet-unknown attacker. Harry paused only a fraction of a second as he identified his assailant, evaluated the danger, and then cast, _"Petrificus Totalis!"_

Draco dodged the spell – an impressive feat, considering the small size of the room – and bodily tackled Harry, grabbing both of his wrists. They struggled and fought. During the fight, Harry ripped Draco's robe whilst trying to lever himself into a more advantageous position, infuriating the blond, who retaliated by doing as much damage as he could to Harry's shirt. As it was a new shirt, and almost the first new thing he'd ever bought for himself, Harry became even more incensed, and soon both boys were doing more damage to each others' clothing than they were doing to each other.

Eventually they tired and, by unspoken mutual agreement, paused to catch their breaths. Their torsos were all but bare, a few bits of rag being all that was left of their upper garments. There were a few red spots that would become bruises, and some scratches of varying degrees of severity, but no major damage had been done to either.

And Draco was still in the upper position. He was also the first to notice that Harry was hard against him, and then that he, himself, had an erection. With a perverse sense of humour, he decided to bring it to Harry's attention. He thrust: minutely, gently – and then again, a little harder, when Harry seemed to ignore it. Harry let out a small groan. Draco gave a broad smirk, and a little snigger.

Harry had been trying to ignore how good the blond git felt pressed up against him, but at the sound, he looked up. _Fine. That's the way he wants to play? Two can jolly well play at _that_ game,_ Harry thought through the haze of his anger. He reached up, his hands moving so fast that Malfoy didn't have time to react, threading his fingers deep into Draco's hair, clenched his fists in it, and yanked Malfoy's face down to his into a very bruising kiss.

Draco's eyes went wide. He was shocked. Who _was_ this, and where the hell was Potter? Because this certainly wasn't the shy, self-effacing Golden Boy he'd seen around Hogwarts for the last five years: the boy he loved to aggravate out of that shell. But as much of a turn-on as this was, it _was_ Potter. And if Potter wanted to play, he'd shag the boy into the mattress, then ruin him at school by bragging about it. He reached down to cop a feel of the Gryffindor's erection, and stroked it firmly a couple of times before leaving off and fumbling with the fastenings of Potter's trousers.

Harry reciprocated: he wasn't about to let the Slytherin control the situation. It wasn't the first hard cock he'd played with, but he was surprised by how Draco's seemed to fit his hand so well, even through the blond's clothing. He had trouble with the fastenings of Draco's robe, since the upper half was mostly in tatters. He finally gave up and just pulled the remains over Malfoy's head.

Since it fit in with his plans, Draco cooperated. Once free of that, Draco was left in braies and boots.2 Harry's trousers and pants were now pushed down to his knees. Harry's hands found ties instead of elastic when he tried to remove the blond's underwear. He found the end of the bow and yanked it loose. Draco's braies came free.

Draco had started using his legs and feet to kick Harry's trousers and pants lower on the Gryffindor's legs. Harry assisted by kicking off his shoes. In the meantime, both young men were in a frenzy of angry lust, exchanging bruising kisses, bites that left marks but didn't quite break the skin, grasping harshly at each other...

Draco could never quite remember how it happened later, but he found himself _under_ the bloody Boy Who Lived, and being breached almost gently, albeit very insistently. When had he been lubed? How? Instead of fucking Potter into the mattress, his anal virginity was being taken from him. And while he was still angry and now rather frightened, he was also feeling a sort of fierce joy in the fact. Nobody had ever been able to master him before, and Potter had done it seemingly without even trying.

Draco immediately banished those thoughts, that realization of his feelings, and lost himself in sensation.

Draco woke the next morning to see a pair of gleaming green eyes looking down at him. The fact that he couldn't make out what Potter was feeling was rather off-putting. Potter had always worn his heart on his sleeve, before now. And then he remembered last night. Repressing his memories of everything but the pain of being breached – having his virginity taken by someone who was supposed to be unworthy – he called on all the anger he could muster.

_'You may have bested me last night, Potter, but this morning you're mine,' _he swore to himself. He had to even the score. He couldn't let Potter have something to hold over him without any means of keeping him quiet.

Smiling sweetly up at Harry and ignoring the glint of suspicion in the green eyes, Draco gently moved in and began trying to seduce the Gryffindor. It proved to be far easier than he'd expected, as Potter readily accepted him into his arms, and easily moved onto his back at Draco's gentle urging.

Secretly gloating at the Gryffindor's seemingly too-trusting nature, Draco started stroking Potter's skin, moving his hand down every once in a while to stroke Harry's beautiful cock – the cock that had, eventually, given him so much pleasure last night. And he was extremely aware of the way the Gryffindor's hands were playing on his body, eliciting exquisite sensations from him. Without realising it, Draco's rage was draining away, being superseded with lust and need. Again Draco found himself being manoeuvred, finding Potter over him, covering him, and soon, entering him yet again. It hurt less this time; he adjusted to being filled faster, and he found the lustful pleasure more quickly.

Through means Harry would likely never understand, a plan had occured to him – a plan based on a bit of trumped-up trickery he'd read in a book in Divination. It was worth a try, at least. If Malfoy believed in it...

"Mine," Harry whispered in Draco's ear, when the Slytherin seemed to be lost in sensation.

Lost in lust, Draco replied, "Yes."

"Swear it," Harry urged.

"Yours . . . I swear," Draco panted.

"Say it again," Harry softly demanded.

"Yours – I'm yours!" Draco groaned as his orgasm neared.

"I don't believe you," Harry gently accused.

Still full of Harry pumping into him, a barely pre-orgasmic, lust-filled Draco spoke, unheeding of his words. "Fully . . . irrevocably . . . totally . . . **yours**!" he screamed, as he came.

A ripple of magic could be felt, and Harry thrust hard, letting himself go, exploding into Draco's depths as Malfoy's body spasmed around him. He lay on top of the blond, panting, trying to regain his strength. A few seconds later he gently extricated himself from Draco, and pushed himself up to look at his arch-rival's face.

Draco looked up at the boy who'd just fucked him a second time, his face a rictus of horror as he realised what had just happened. Not the sex – that had been fantastic, as much he wanted to deny it – but...

Harry smirked down at him. "You swore three times, Malfoy. You belong to me: and by your own words, 'fully, irrevocably, and totally' mine."

Draco screamed his denial. "NO!"

"Oh, yes," Harry purred darkly. "You wanted to fuck _me_, didn't you? What were you planning on, Malfoy – using it against me at school? Not going to happen now, is it?"

Panicked, Draco only wanted to get away. He tried to throw Harry off himself, but didn't quite manage it, and Harry quickly regained his position. Then he tried to fight, but by that time tears were flowing down the sides of his face and blinding him, making his blows ineffectual. But he only was able to throw a very few before Harry threw himself down on the blond and wrapped his arms around him, pinning Draco's arms between them.

When Draco gave up trying to fight, he started hyperventilating, trying to both calm down, and stop the tears in his eyes from spilling over.

Harry's grip changed from restraining to comforting. Harry didn't know why, exactly, he was comforting the blond. He didn't _like_ Draco. Well, Draco had never given him a _reason_ to like him – quite the opposite. But they had engaged in sex together, slept together, then had another bout. True, it had been angry, manipulative sex, but it _had_ been voluntary, and the blond was so pitiful, so vulnerable right now.

Harry felt just a bit guilty for tricking Draco into the bond, as well. He had found mention of the triple vow bond in one of the books from Trelawney's class as an example of a prophecy that had come true. And since it was so simple, and connected with Trelawney besides, he hadn't truly expected it to work. He'd expected to trick Draco into making the triple vow, and then enforce it himself through the blond's sense of pureblood honour: blackmail, of a sort. But against all odds, it _had_ worked.

Then again, the Slytherin _had_ to have been planning something nefarious. And since Harry was supposed to have been a Slytherin himself, with intelligence enough to have been considered for Ravenclaw as well, it wasn't hard for him to see what that 'something' might be. So while his Gryffindor tendencies made him feel guilty, it was only a slight guilt. He'd get over it.

Harry had finished with denying his Slytherin side, and had embraced it.

"Shush," Harry whispered reassuringly to the young man he was holding. "It's all right. I'll take care of you." And he meant it. Because he had so little that he could call his own as he'd grown up, he cherished everything he had. And his magic was telling him that Draco was now his.

When Draco had finally calmed down, Harry had used his wand to cast cleaning charms on them and the bedding. From his new position beside, and slightly hovering over Draco, Harry asked a question that had been quietly nagging at him.

"What were you doing out alone, Malfoy? I don't believe I've ever seen you without at least _someone_ else with you."

"That's none of your business, Potter," Draco replied, trying to ignore the fact that he'd just had an emotional breakdown, and that Harry _sodding_ Potter had comforted him. What was worse, it _had_ comforted him.

Harry gave a mental shrug, and asked his next question. "You've been gone overnight. When do you have to be home?"

"I _am_ home," Draco replied bitterly, "or at least as good as."

"What?"

"I refused the Dark Mark this summer," Draco stated. "I can't go home, so I've been staying at the 'King and Crown' in Knockturn Alley."

"You . . . _refused_ . . . the Dark Mark?" Harry asked incredulously, although the evidence of his own eyes said it was so. Draco's skin was entirely unmarked by anything other than the evidence of their struggles.

"Are you bloody deaf? I just said so, didn't I?"

Harry assumed that either Draco's mother was also a Death Eater and had kicked him out, or that Voldemort, or at least some of the other Death Eaters had access to Malfoy Manor, making it too dangerous to stay. Malfoy couldn't have refused it to Voldemort's face, though, or he'd be dead.

Harry ignored Draco's tone; after all, he felt he almost deserved it, after that stupid question. "And your friends?" he inquired.

"Are protecting their own hides, as good little Slytherins should," Draco replied snidely. "Gods! What is this, Potter – twenty questions?" He half-turned on his side away from Harry, huddling in on himself.

Harry ignored Draco's words, testing how far he could push the blond. But now he knew why Draco had been alone. "You're still a Malfoy, though? You haven't been disinherited or disowned, or anything?"

"My father's in Azkaban and there are no other prospects for an heir, Potter, so what do _you_ think? And thanks for that, by the way," the blond replied sarcastically.

Harry gave a sort of half-shrug. "If they hadn't been intent on stealing from the Ministry it wouldn't have happened. None of _my_ doing."

"So are you hungry?" Harry asked quickly, trying to change the subject.

"My father was a Ministry official!" Draco retorted, ignoring the question. "He had every right to be there!"

"In Death Eater garb, with several other Death Eaters and Voldemort himself?" Harry asked pointedly, bowing to the inevitable.

"That's a lie!" Draco replied heatedly, whipping around to glare at the other boy. He didn't believe his own words, but he desperately wanted to.

"It's a recorded fact, witnessed by over a dozen people. And my godfather, your own cousin, was murdered there that night, so don't you dare try to act as though you're the only one with a grievance, Malfoy!"

Draco sneered. "And who might that be?"

"Sirius Black," Harry replied, his voice like cold, polished steel.

"That blood traitor?" was the sneering reply.

"I'm betting you've been named the same, now," was the frigid response, "and for the same reason."

Draco's face paled as the truth of those words sank in.

They'd showered, separately, and eaten a continental breakfast. Harry loaned Draco his spare shirt and leather trousers, since Draco's robe was now little better than rags. Harry would wear yesterday's trousers and his leather shirt.

Harry had told Draco to give up his room at the 'King and Crown' and move in with him. He thought it likely that there were going to be Death Eaters about looking for the blond. Harry might not like Draco, but he didn't want the boy to die, and he felt a responsibility for him now – and with two of them, they could watch each other's backs. He then informed Tom of the change and paid another fifteen Galleons for the extra occupant – again, another over-compensation.

Draco had grumbled about it, but agreed. Privately, he thought he'd be safer with that arrangement. Not that he had much of a choice; he'd voluntarily, even if not quite in his right mind at the time, sworn himself to the Gryffindor. His ancestors and the founder of his Hogwarts House, Salazar Slytherin, must be rolling over in their graves. Draco himself was totally ashamed of himself over it. And while he was irate with Harry for tricking him into the vow, he also grudgingly admired the Gryffindor for it; it was a thoroughly Slytherin thing to do.

But Harry had plans for the day that didn't include Draco, and he didn't think it was likely there would be trouble so soon after being on his own, so they had gone their separate ways for the day.

Harry found a luggage shop and was soon perusing trunks to replace his battered one. Eventually he settled upon a model which had four visible compartments – one a large wardrobe, one filled with drawers, one a walk-in closet type of affair for books and other shelvable items, and one a catch-all – plus two hidden compartments which could only be opened by a combination of password and magical aura.

The password Harry chose? "Voldemort sucks donkey..." Well, you get the idea. It was an ironbound cinch that no Death Eater or sympathiser would stumble upon that one.

Once Harry had paid for it, the trunk was attuned to his magical signature and sent on to The Leaky Cauldron to await his return.

On his way to Gringotts for yet another study session in the family vaults, he started past Knockturn Alley. With the half-formed idea of seeing where the 'King and Crown' was, he turned into it, then stopped. Stepping into an alcove, Harry did what he could to disguise himself without magic, being mindful of being caught again by the Ministry, and then continued.

Come to that, why hadn't he heard from the Ministry about that spell he'd cast at Malfoy last night? Or the cleaning spells? But until it happened, he wouldn't worry about it. The former was in the cause of self-defense, anyway.

He hadn't gone far when he noted a worn, faded sign with a wand pictured on it, but no wording. Curious, Harry walked down the narrow alley – barely wide enough for two people to pass each other – until he got to a door with the same sign hanging over it. Harry opened the door and stepped inside. The shop had the unmistakable aura of great age over it, although it was clean and well-kept.

"Ah," a voice said at Harry's elbow, startling him quite badly, "Mister Potter, isn't it? What would bring _you_ into Knockturn Alley, and into my humble shop?" The owner of the voice had stepped around Harry as he talked, until he was in front of him, looking Harry up and down in a measuring way. The man appeared elderly, although his thinning hair was still dark, lank and limp as it was. He was thin and would have been tall, had he not been so stooped over.

"You sell wands here?" Harry asked, unsurprised that he'd been recognised. After all, his picture had been in The Daily Prophet many times.

"Among other things, yes," the man replied. "Yours isn't quite suited to you, you know," he commented.

Harry frowned. He'd always liked his wand. "How do you mean?"

"Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, yes?"

Harry nodded. "Yes," he agreed.

"Yes, the phoenix feather is appropriate, but not alone. And Holly? No, I don't think so. Close: oh, yes, it's close, but rather, I think, one of the magical oaks – or, perhaps..." The strange man shook himself out of his musings and focused once again on Harry. "Shall we see what we can do for you, Mister Potter? Shall we see if we can get you fitted up properly?"

"If I do, will it have the Ministry tracking and monitoring charms on it?" Harry wanted to know, his face showing his dislike of that idea.

"Well, it wouldn't be legal if it didn't, Mister Potter," the man said, giving Harry a sly wink and a small shake of his head to negate his words.

"Then I think . . . yes, I would be interested in a different wand."

"Ah, good, good. Then if you could hold out a finger for me? On your wand hand, if you would."

Totally bemused, Harry did as he was asked. He was still expecting a mad measuring tape to attack him, and couldn't fathom why this old man wanted his finger. He quickly found out. The man took hold of his hand and, as quickly as a snake strike, pricked Harry's finger, drawing a drop of blood. Then taking his own wand, the old man chanted a quick incantation at it, and watched carefully as colours poured off the blood.

"Ah, I was wrong. No, not Salamander Oak, although that would have been better than the Holly. No, we'll need a branch of Leir wood.3 The tail feather of a phoenix, of course. And ground emerald – a dark green: about the same colour as your eyes, I think. And a mixture of bloods: yours, of course, to link it to you . . . and Amphista will ensure that if it's ever broken that it can mend itself, and . . . ah, yes . . . the Chinese Wood Dragon. Very rare. Very dear. Can you afford it, Mister Potter?"

Harry had no doubt he could afford whatever the price, but he wasn't about to admit it. "That would depend on the final bill," he replied.

Harry wasn't so sure of the idea of using blood in his new wand, since he'd been told more often than not that blood magic was Dark magic, but the reasons the old man gave for it seemed reasonable. He pushed his unease aside. After all, it was supposed to be blood magic that had kept him 'safe' at the Dursley's.

"Ha-ha-ha-ha!" the man cackled in delight, shaking a finger in Harry's face. "Canny! You've learned, you have! Ah, let's see now, shall we? Leir wood – rare, and dangerous to gather that, you know: shock you to death if you're not careful. Phoenix feather . . . I suppose you'll want to stay with the fire phoenix? Probably best so," he continued, not giving Harry a chance to answer, "and the purest ground emerald . . . the bloods – not counting your own, of course . . . Three hundred eighty-four Galleons, five sickles and nine knuts, young sir," the wand maker finally said, eyeing Harry closely.4

Harry was shocked by the high cost, and wasn't quite able to hide it, causing the strange old man to cackle yet again. His wand from Ollivander's had only been nine Galleons – most being only seven. But along with the expensive materials, Harry realised the man was taking a risk by selling an illegal, unmonitored wand to someone he thought to be a minor, so there was probably a fairly large and unmentioned risk fee included. "You'll take a bank draft?" he finally asked.

Harry could probably have got a reduction of the fee by letting the man know he was legally an adult, but Harry wasn't yet ready for that information to become public knowledge.

Damn! _That's_ why he hadn't got any underage warnings! He was legally an adult!

The old man raised an eyebrow, but slowly nodded. "Aye, I'll do that," he said. Going behind a counter he pulled a Gringotts bank draft form out from under it and filled it out. Harry read over it, and signed it. As soon as he'd finished, the form disappeared.

"We'll have a short wait, then," the old man said.

Five minutes later, a heavy leather bag 'clunked' onto the counter. It was still only a small fraction of the size it should have been for the amount of gold that was in it.

"Ah, yeh weren't lyin' to an old man, then. I half expected a Gringotts representative to show up and haul yeh off. But since it's here, we can get started. You'll hold the money until you're satisfied with the product, of course."

Harry was a bit affronted by the eccentric old man's admission, but given the quality of the customers he probably usually had, Harry could understand his cynicism.

The wand maker bustled around gathering the materials he'd need. Harry had never seen Leir wood before; it was a light, almost metallic-looking wood with a beautiful straight grain. The fact is that it _did_ have a high silver content. The phoenix feather was obviously from a phoenix other than Dumbledore's Fawkes, being a deeper, more pure red, with gold highlights that were missing almost entirely from Fawkes' feathers. The ground emerald almost glowed in its purity, and the two types of dragon blood in their vials looked like . . . well, blood.

Then the wand maker took a flat gold platter not quite two feet across and lightly engraved with several runes and sigils out from under the counter and placed it on the surface. Taking up the Leir wood, he placed it on the platter and cast a spell on it, getting it ready to accept the other components. Laying the phoenix feather on top of the wand wood, he cast yet another spell, and the feather sank into the core of the wand. He repeated the process with the ground emerald. He then took a dropper and, incanting all the while, cautiously dropped nine drops of the Amphista blood in carefully measured spaces onto the wand, where they were absorbed.

When he'd finished that, a fine layer of sweat beaded the man's forehead. He stoppered the blood, then set it and the dropper aside. Taking up a dropper with a larger diameter, he picked up the Wood Dragon blood. The incantation this time was in an almost musical language that Harry guessed to be a dialect of Chinese, although it could have been any other language, for all he knew. But again nine drops were used, these drops being larger than the others, and dripped in the spaces between where the Amphista blood had been dropped. Again they were absorbed.

The wand maker wiped the sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief, then putting the soiled handkerchief in his trouser pocket, he looked up and smiled at Harry. "Only one more ingredient to go, lad. Might I bother you for that same finger again?" When Harry complied, the old man didn't stick it again, but used a spell to re-open the old wound. The cadence of this last incantation as the wand maker guided Harry's finger over the wand was slower, the tone deeper, but this time only three drops were used; one at each end, and one in the middle, carefully coaxed from Harry's finger. The blood spread to cover the entirety of the wand, however, before it was absorbed and disappeared.

"Pick it up, Mister Potter, but please – don't try to use it yet. We're not quite through, here. I need to cast one more spell in order to fine tune the wand to you."

Harry picked up the wand, and was surprised at the sensations he was getting from it already. He looked up at the old man just as he aimed his own wand at the new wand in Harry's hand. Harry's wand started to glow a soft golden colour which spread to Harry's hand, and down his arm to the elbow. The golden glow lightened, became silvery, and faded away.

The old man grinned at Harry, then at the wand, and his grin faded away. "What's that?" he asked in a bewildered fashion.

Harry looked at his new wand and noticed a pattern on it which hadn't been there before; a silvery inlay made a decoration that looked rather like a very beautiful flowered vine, but only up one side of the wand. The rest of it was exactly as it had been before.

The old man came closer, peering very closely at the decoration without touching either it or the wand. "Mythril? I don't have mythril. Where did the mythril come from?" He looked rather accusingly at Harry as he asked that last question.

"I don't know," Harry protested. "What's mythril?"

"You don't know?" The old man peered into Harry's eyes. "You don't know!" he repeated wonderingly. "It's an elvish metal – quite magical. But where could it have come from?" he inquired of nobody as he again studied the wand. Then he shook himself as he'd done a couple of hours ago to shake himself out of his musings, straightened up as best he was able, and looked at Harry.

"That wand..." He trailed off, looking at first it, then Harry with doubt, then began again. "That wand should allow your spells to be at least twice as powerful as before. Usually my wands only allow about a ten to thirty percent increase in power, but the mythril inlay... But try it out, Mister Potter. A simple 'Lumos', please, at first."

Harry cast the 'Lumos' spell, which would give off a soft lighting good enough for reading with his old wand, or dimly lighting up an area about ten feet away from him in all directions. The resulting bright white light illuminated every corner of the shop, throwing the shadows into sharp relief. Harry quickly cast 'Nox', ending the spell. He looked in wonder at the old man, whose features clearly showed his own surprise.

"I _must_ find a source for mythril," the old man finally said to himself as he gazed at the wand.

"I quoted you a price, young sir," he said, again looking at Harry.

Harry nodded his head at the bag of Galleons, which he'd left on the counter where it had first appeared.

"It hardly seems enough, now," the old man muttered as he picked it up, "but the mythril wasn't mine, nor my idea." Again he turned his attention to Harry.

"The Ministry won't allow you to carry two wands," he warned. "Tap this one against your forearm, and it will disguise itself as an armband. Just will it into your hand when you want to use it. Oh: and don't let anyone else handle it. It might be dangerous for them." With that the old man turned and disappeared into a back room, bag of Galleons in hand.

He had obviously been troubled by the appearance of the elfin metal on the wand, which made Harry a little uneasy as well. But it was clearly a superior wand if the results of the light spell were anything to go by, so Harry shook off the mood.

"'Have a good day' to you, too," Harry muttered after the bent old man, then called out, "Thank you!" He then pulled up his sleeve and tapped it against his forearm. Nothing happened. _'Ah – of course,'_ he thought to himself after a second. He pulled up the sleeve on his wand arm and tapped the wand against that forearm. The wand wrapped itself firmly, but not tightly around his arm, settling in just below his elbow, the mythril design showing clearly. Harry readjusted his clothing, took one last look around the shop, and then turned and left.

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~o

1. A type of overcoat  
>2. Braies: While the Italian braies example at www dot cloakedanddaggered dot combraies/ is from the 15th century, I'd expect Draco to wear something of this sort, rather than the 'union suit' or baggy, knee-length underwear typical of Victorian times (in which the Wizarding world's fashions are stuck). As a pureblooded aristocrat, Draco would NOT wear the Muggle fashion of boxers, just because they _are_ Muggle (nor do I believe they would suit his tastes in style, but that's purely speculative).  
>3. Leir is the Celtic God of Lightning. The magical Leir Tree is named after him due to its electrical properties. (My creation.)<br>4. US $3,381.24 as of 3/2006


	3. Chapter 3

**_No Light Without Shadows_**

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Three**

_'Malfoy should have had time to get back to The Leaky Cauldron by now,'_ Harry thought, so giving up on finding the 'King and Crown', he left Knockturn Alley. There wasn't enough time left before lunch to make studying in his vaults under Gringotts worthwhile, so he headed to The Leaky Cauldron. Draco wasn't there yet, so Harry practised willing the new wand into his hand a few times and tried to get the feel of it, casting several small charms, which were at least ten times stronger than they had been with his old wand (and causing him to wonder if the ability of his holly wand to conduct power had been damped – a wand being only a focussing and power conducting tool without any power of its own), then busied himself with transferring his things from his old trunk to the new one, along with the purchases he'd made. All of Dudley's cast-offs were tossed with alacrity into the dust bin, of course.

Once done with that chore, Harry cast _Tempus_; it was gone noon, and Malfoy still hadn't returned. Walking down to the pub's common room, Harry asked Tom if he'd seen the blond. He hadn't. A little worried now, Harry returned to Diagon Alley and made his way to Knockturn Alley, keeping a sharp eye out for the blond Slytherin all the while. While he did spot a few familiar faces from Hogwarts, most of whose names he didn't know, he didn't see Draco anywhere along the way. He'd have to find the 'King and Crown' after all, and hope that Malfoy was just being stubborn.

Harry drew more than his fair share of strange looks as he strode down Knockturn Alley, despite his hat. Evidently it wasn't the disguise he'd wished it to be. He didn't have far to go. The 'King and Crown' was just across the street and a bit further down from the alley where the wand shop was located. Once he was inside, he asked after Draco's room – and got just as far as he'd expect someone to get if they asked Tom if he were staying at The Leaky Cauldron. Nowhere. Never heard of the bloke, in fact.

Disappointed but undeterred, Harry retreated to the inn's common room and waited until the clerk was busy. He then wandered up and leaned on the counter, ostensibly waiting for the clerk to have time for him, but quickly scanning the registry. Draco's unmistakable script was visible about a third of the way down the sheet – room twenty-three. Having found what he was looking for, Harry slowly wandered around the lobby, then quickly ducked up the stairs.

He found the room on the second floor. The door was ajar: only a half-inch or less, but it was alarming because Malfoy wouldn't be that careless. Using the tip of his wand – the legal one – he pushed the door open. The room had been quite thoroughly and, from the look of it, hurriedly tossed. Draco was crumpled up on the floor in the midst of the mess, a largish bump on his head and a rivulet of blood having run down the side of his face before drying.

"Malfoy!" Harry knelt quickly by the Slytherin's side after that outburst, gripping the blond's arm. He was relieved to find it warm: and more so when he determined that the younger Malfoy was breathing. He was about to cast 'Enervate' when he bethought himself, and exchanged his legal wand for the other. Even if he could legally cast spells now, he didn't know if his wand was still being tracked, and it wouldn't do for him to be known to be in Knockturn Alley. But remembering how that simple 'Lumos' and the other small spells he'd cast had acted as he practised, Harry cut the power he used in his Enervate to about a quarter of what he'd normally use.

Draco gasped, and opened his eyes.

It turned out that rather than being anything more nefarious, it was only a simple robbery, although that could have gone much worse than it had – and they often did. Draco's clothing was strewn all over the room, scattered about along with his other belongings. But after ascertaining that Draco hadn't had anything _too_ terribly important with him, and allowing the younger Malfoy a cursory search to ascertain what was missing (anything small, easily hidden on the person, and worth more than ten sickles that wouldn't be too easily identified if sold elsewhere)1, he almost forced the blond to a nearby medical practice – which was almost a necessity in a place like Knockturn Alley.

Draco's injury turned out to be caused by a hex that should have killed him but had been badly aimed, and had only glanced off his head. The medi-wizard proclaimed that the damage was minor, and within fifteen minutes had healed the injury with a potion and a couple of quick spells. He then turned to Harry.

"Why are you wearing those things on your face?" he asked bluntly. The man's demeanour was so blunt and self-assured it bordered on rude. The medi-wizard rather reminded Harry of Snape, except the potions master totally ignored the border and invaded the country in force, and with extreme prejudice.

"I can't see without them," Harry replied, feeling startled and a bit defensive.

"Spell damage?" the medi-wizard asked brusquely.

"I don't think so, just—"

"An affectation, then," the man said dismissively. "Knowing who you are, do you really think it wise to trust your sight to Muggle artefacts which can break or be knocked away?"

Harry was more than half angry with the man's rudeness by then. He had a point, but, "I don't trust magic with my eyes; what if I wound up blind?"

The man snorted. "Muggle nonsense! I've never heard of anyone being blinded by eye correction! But they're your eyes, boy. If you want to trust your life to those Muggle contraptions, fine."

Harry had never heard it put quite that way before. Yes, his friends had urged him to have his eyes corrected, but this was a professional – someone who knew what he was talking about. But could he trust him? Brusque to the point of rudeness he might be, but the medi-wizard seemed trustworthy enough. Someone trying to trick him would have been a lot nicer about it . . . wouldn't they?

"Draco?" Harry didn't know why he was asking the irascible blond for an opinion, but he couldn't quite make up his mind.

"Why ask me, Potter?" the blond in question asked snidely.

"Could you try _not_ being a prat, for once?" Harry demanded exasperatedly.

Draco shrugged. "They're ugly, they keep slipping down your face, and I have no idea how you manage to fly without losing them, let alone do anything else," he opined. "You've lost them several times during our fights," Draco pointed out.

The medi-wizard's eyebrows went up a bit at that, but he remained silent. The blond boy might just help him get some more business. It was a fairly quiet time of day right now. Most of their business occurred after nightfall: thankfully, his partner's shift.

Harry nodded, although it was usually Crabbe or Goyle who had knocked his spectacles off. Still feeling torn, he reluctantly asked the man, "What do you have to do?"

The medi-wizard told Harry about the process, and after getting his acquiescence, cast a diagnostic spell on each of Harry's eyes, taking notes of the findings. He looked up from perusing those notes. "Actually," he said, "you _do_ have some spell damage: quite old. Probably from _that_," he continued, with a sharp nod at the scar on Harry's forehead. "Nothing that can't be corrected, but it's likely to hurt like buggery."

"I wouldn't know," Harry replied, with a sly look at Draco.

It was a lie, actually. He'd experimented with a couple of other boys his age, but while he didn't mind bottoming, he definitely preferred to top. He liked having control – something which he had sadly lacked in his life.

Draco promptly and angrily blushed, then hissed,"I hope it's worse," although it hadn't been that bad, really – especially not the second time. And although his butt ached, he could see himself wanting it again: not that he'd ever admit that to anyone. He dearly wanted to get up and walk out, but he didn't want to have to deal with his wreck of a room alone. What if his attacker came back?

Harry just grinned and turned back to the medi-wizard, who was trying to keep his own face expressionless. "How long will it take?" Harry asked.

"The first thing I'll have to do is clear the residual spell energy, then re-check your eyes, and _then_ use the correction spell, so . . . a bit over an hour, I would think."

"And the cost?"

"Seventeen Galleons."

Harry considered it, then gave a decisive nod. Clearing the residual spell energy alone would be worth it. Why Dumbledore hadn't had anyone do it before now... Harry shoved that thought aside for the moment. It was another possible point against the man, but he'd think about it later.

"Do it," Harry directed, taking a page out of the medi-wizard's book. The man looked a bit taken aback by Harry's brusqueness, giving Harry a bit of satisfaction, but got right to work.

The combination potion and spell to clear the residual spell energy made Harry dizzy, his head ache, and his remaining sight to go dim. Not to mention that, like most potions, this one tasted horrid. Harry was truly afraid that he was going to lose his sight when it darkened, but the medi-wizard reassured him, and in less than twenty minutes the effects started to lift. Five minutes later it was over, and Harry felt more alert than he could ever before remember having felt. Alert – clear-headed – almost the same as when he'd been consumed by that cold anger, but without the anger.

But before Harry could contemplate that for very long, the medi-wizard was again casting diagnostic spells at Harry's eyes. He frowned. "That cleared up quite a lot of the residual, but not quite all, I'm afraid," he pronounced. "Nor do I think it's within my power to do so. What's there is rather . . . persistent." He looked at Harry quite seriously. "If you'd rather wait, you can get your sight corrected after someone else attempts to clear the residual energy."

Harry frowned. "Would it make a difference?"

It was the medi-wizard's turn to frown as he concentrated on the question. "I don't believe so, no," he finally answered.

"Then we may as well finish the job," Harry replied. That the medi-wizard had voiced doubts and offered to postpone the treatment reassured Harry, actually. Someone intent on harm wouldn't likely have done so.

The medi-wizard pulled out one of many drawers that turned out to be filled with potions bottles, and started searching through them.

"Ah! Here we are!" the medi-wizard said with an air of triumph, having pulled out one of the bottles. Turning to Harry, he directed, "Drink this, please."

Harry drank the potion which, aside from the usual bad flavour, tasted a little stale. Once he had, though, the medi-wizard spoke again.

"Now we just need to activate it." So saying, the man cast yet another spell – twice – once at each eye. It was the same spell, but there was a slight variation on the vocal stresses.

Harry, knowing that how a spell was spoken could affect how some spells acted (or if they worked at all), assumed that his eyes had different prescriptions and needed different adjustments. When he asked, the medi-wizard agreed.

Harry glanced at Malfoy, and was surprised by the intense look on the blond's face. Draco immediately sneered and turned away, but Harry was left wondering what that look had been about. He had looked to see how Malfoy was faring, and was satisfied that the blond had looked well enough now, but...

But then a feeling as though ants were crawling over his eyes caught his attention.

"Ah, Doctor . . . Smythe, is it? My eyes itch," Harry complained.

"Nothing to worry about. That's normal. Do let me know if it starts hurting, though."

"What would that mean?" Harry asked worriedly. The itching sensation was getting more intense.

"Could mean you'll go blind," the medi-wizard said with a wicked grin. At Harry's look of panic, the man rolled his eyes. "It could mean any number of things; but I've never lost a patient yet, so don't worry about it."

"It's getting really bad," Harry whinged.

"Don't rub them," was the medi-wizard's advice. "I don't want to have to bind your arms to the chair."

A quick look at Malfoy showed Harry that the blond now had an almost malicious grin on his face.

"So the Boy Who Lived is a big baby after all?" Draco sneered.

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry growled, and was gratified to see Draco shift uncomfortably in his seat only a second or two later.

The itching sensation was getting very intense, now. Harry closed his eyes and gripped the chair arms tightly, his knuckles turning white.

Harry was probably unaware of it, but he had a tendency to growl when he shagged. And Draco had been shagged exactly twice, now – by Harry. Maybe it should have taken longer, but Draco had acquired a bit of a Pavlovian reaction to Harry growling. It went straight to his groin and . . . there – back a bit further. So it was quite natural for him to have to squirm a bit to try to get comfortable after Harry growled at him. That wasn't to say that Draco was all right with it, however. He mightily resented having his body react that way towards Potter. He stared pointedly out the window.

The itching sensation hit a plateau just before Harry swore he was going to go mad and claw his eyes out. A sensation of warmth suffused his whole body, and then the discomfort started to slowly seep away.

"Merlin!" Harry exclaimed when he was finally comfortable again. "No wonder Dumbledore wears glasses. That was brutal!"

The medi-wizard was busy with a drunkard that had come in with a minor stab wound by that time, but he told Harry to wait for a final check before he left.

"Well, let's have a look then, Potter," Draco drawled. He was looking forward to taking the Gryffindor down a peg with a shot about his looks, regardless of whether Potter looked better without them. And having seen Harry without them just that morning as they shagged, he knew getting rid of those awful frames would appear to improve the young man's looks threefold.

That thought made him rather uncomfortable.

Harry looked at the blond and was struck by how much more clearly he could see: how many more details than he'd been able to see before. Evidently his old spectacles could have done with a change.

Draco, for his part, was struck dumb when Harry's _gold_ eyes pierced him. They weren't the amber colour that most people called gold, but a true metallic hue. To his relief, however, the colour began to change, reverting to the Gryffindor's usual green – except for a thin, almost unnoticeable rim of gold around the outside of the iris that one would only notice if you were staring at his eyes – which Draco realised he was doing. Even their normal colour, without his spectacles, was intense – riveting.

Tearing his eyes away, Draco looked over to the medi-wizard. _'I wish he'd hurry,'_ Draco thought. He was in a rush to leave. The room had become uncomfortably warm, for some reason. Not having known anyone who had their sight corrected before, he didn't know if such colour changes were normal or not, but having Harry look at him with those gold coloured eyes had been distinctly disconcerting: not that his uncovered and focused vivid green eyes were much better.

After the medi-wizard had declared Harry's eyesight to be 'well enough' and he'd been paid, Harry and Draco returned to the 'King and Crown'.

Draco surveyed the room with dismay, although he made sure to show nothing more than a blank mask to Harry.

"It's not going to be picked up on its own," Harry remarked.

Draco favoured him with a supercilious sneer, then drew his wand.

Unbeknownst to him, Harry's new wand was already in the Gryffindor's hand, willed there upon Malfoy's first move towards _his_ wand.

_"Pack!"_ Draco incanted. Then while he watched everything fold and fly into the various compartments of his trunk, he commented, "It will all have to be replaced, of course."

"Because . . .?"

"Well, obviously I don't wish to have reminders about."

Harry looked at him. With the quality of clothing the young Malfoy wore, that would cost quite a lot. "You have access to your family vaults?"

Draco sneered. "Of course, Potter."

"Just inquiring, Malfoy," Harry said, irritation in his voice. "You'd do much better to lose the attitude, you know," he added. "Until we're at Hogwarts, I'm the only one watching your back."

"You did a bit more than watch it, as I recall," the Slytherin bitingly replied.

"**. . .**"

Harry tried again. Voice low and dangerous, he said, "Ready for another go already?"

Instead of replying, Draco suddenly spotted something on the other side of the room that needed his personal attention, and he made an angry fuss over it as he went to take care of it.

Harry saw this for the smoke screen it was, and smiled after him with dark satisfaction.

As soon as they were back in Harry's room at The Leaky Cauldron, Harry sat down to the old, worn writing desk to write his promised note to the Order, assuring them that he hadn't yet run afoul of any stray Dark Lords or their killing curses. He expected Malfoy to start settling in.

"Well, Potter?" Draco asked snidely. "Just where in this . . . hovel of a room am I to sleep?"

"There," Harry said absently, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at the bed. He was already constructing the letter to the Order in his mind.

"And where will _you_ be sleeping?" the blond asked in the same tones.

Harry looked up at him. "There's only the one bed, Malfoy," he replied in a reasonable tone, knowing full well what Draco's reaction was likely to be.

"I'll be bugger—" Draco started to say angrily, before interrupting himself. "I'll- No," the blond finally said, sitting firmly on his trunk.

If Harry didn't know better, he'd have said Draco was pouting. Glancing at the blond again, he wondered . . . maybe he _didn't_ know better, after all. That certainly _looked_ like a pout. But Draco's defensive move to protect his arse tickled Harry's sense of humour, and he smirked knowingly at the young man, who didn't seem to realise that his cheeks were pinking. Harry thought of making a remark along the lines of 'that horse has already bolted', but refrained. Instead, he said, "You can share the bed with me, or you can sleep on the rug: your choice."

Draco stood. "They can't have let my room at the 'King and Crown', yet," he said, picking up his trunk.

"Put it down," Harry told him gently, but firmly. When Draco only stood there, Harry said, "You're safer with me than on your own – obviously, after you were robbed today – and not knowing if you have any of your father's 'associates' looking for you, two pairs of eyes and two wands are better than one."

Draco put the trunk down. It had nothing to do with what Potter had said. After all, he was quite capable of taking care of himself – most of the time – but had everything to do with what Potter _hadn't_ said. Potter hadn't used the fact of the triple vow against him. He wasn't a slave, and his free will hadn't been tampered with, but he _had_ sworn himself to Potter. If the bond had been anything but voluntary, something might be done about it. But it _was_ voluntary, the circumstances notwithstanding. Draco winced, mentally. The circumstances probably made the whole thing a bit more complicated. Without realising he was doing so, Draco slowly rubbed his bum. Of course the wording he'd used – 'irrevocably' – didn't help, either.

"Sore?" Harry asked. He tried to sound solicitous, but he was fighting a smug vindictiveness while trying to do so.

Draco's head whipped around, his eyes glaring, having heard the underlying tones. The truth was, he was sore, a bit – maybe more than a bit. Harry wasn't lacking in the genital department. But he wasn't about to admit it. "Just wondering how many other people you've raped, Potter," he snapped.

Harry laughed, although there didn't seem to be any mirth in it.

Draco stared in shock, fighting to keep emotion from his face. The old Potter would have gone ballistic over that remark. Even Draco had to admit there wasn't much truth in his allegation, since sex _had_ been the objective – he'd just wound up in the wrong position – but it was just the sort of thing that would have had the old Potter feeling guilty, and angry about it. Which is why he had said it, of course.

"Would it have been rape if you had succeeded in fucking _me_, Malfoy?" Harry demanded with a fierce grin, daring the blond to say the wrong thing.

Someone knocked on the door, saving Draco from having to reply.

Both young men drew their wands as Harry went to answer the door.

Throwing the door open, a hex ready on his lips, Harry was flabbergasted by who was on the other side of it. "Mister Weasley?"

The redheaded man looked at Harry, and then down at the wand that was still pointing at him. "Is that necessary?" he asked.

Harry looked down at his wand blankly, as though surprised to see it there. Then he blushed and put it away. "I'm sorry, sir," he said. "You're just about the last person I expected to see. Kingsley, Snape, Moody . . . but not you. What are you doing here?"

Arthur Weasley looked over Harry's shoulder, intending to ask if he could enter and looking to see what the seating arrangements were, and froze. "What is _he_ doing here?" he asked tensely.

Harry looked around to see Draco still pointing his wand at the redheaded man, a look of disdain on his face.

"He's not going to attack you, Malfoy," he said in the same tones one would take with a frightened four-year-old. "You can put your wand away, now."

Draco shot him an angry glare before facing the newcomer again. "I'm here because Potter likes angry sex!" he shot at the surprised man.

Harry closed his eyes, fighting for control of his temper, then opened them and stepped aside, motioning that the man should come in. "You may as well come in; I think you're going to be here for a while," he said. He did _not_ want to have this conversation with the door open, for everyone to hear. He was angry that Draco couldn't keep his big gob shut, but he should have known better, and was now resigned that the figurative cat was out of the bag. There would be no way to hide from the questions he was sure the blond's remark had engendered.

Harry waved Arthur to the desk chair, and sat on the bed.

"Well?" the man inquired.

"Potter—" Draco began, but was interrupted.

"I'll tell this!" Harry snapped.

Draco looked mutinous for a moment, and then saw where there might be some humour in the situation. Potter was going to tell one of his 'family' about having gay sex with the enemy? He settled back into his seat on his trunk to enjoy the show, a small smirk on his face.

Harry looked at the blond suspiciously, but, face blazing, he started telling his tale. He glossed over the sex as much as he could, but of course Malfoy couldn't let him get away with that, and made a few terse comments of his own.

". . . and then the next morning I was watching Malfoy sleep and remembered—"

"You were . . . watching him sleep," Arthur repeated disbelievingly.

"Likely planning my demise," Draco inserted, sotto voce.

Harry and Mister Weasley ignored him.

"That's right," Harry said in response to Arthur, "and I remembered reading about a triple vow bond thing in one of Trelawney's textbooks."

"How did you get him to make a triple vow?" Arthur asked, amazed.

"_He_ is sitting right here, I'll remind you," Draco said acerbically.

Mister Weasley turned his head and looked at the blond. "Well, then?" he prompted.

Draco opened his mouth to reply and blushed, turning speechless. There was no way he was going to reveal his folly – especially not to a Weasley! "I don't see how that's any of your business," he finally said.

Arthur looked back to Harry whose face was, if anything, brighter than Draco's.

"I'd rather not say," was Harry's reply.

"Again?" the man said, reading into the reactions of the two boys. "Harry – son – once might be excused as adrenalin and hormones . . . but twice?"

Harry gave a barely perceptible nod. He might be a bit peeved with Ron right now, but he still considered him and the rest of the Weasley family as the closest thing he'd ever have to a 'real' family, and Harry was very worriedly wondering if he'd just put his position in that family in jeopardy.

Arthur looked from one boy to the next, and back. He was rather surprised to find out that the boy he and his family had accepted into their affections was a homosexual, but it didn't really matter . . . although Ginny might be disappointed. But that he'd chosen a Malfoy as a bed partner... "What was the vow?" he inquired.

"Harry, if you dare—" came the panicked, threatening tones from Draco.

"That he was mine," Harry said at the same time.

"Yours," Arthur repeated blankly, processing the possible implications. The Triple Vow was simple, but it didn't work unless you truly meant what you were saying.

Harry nodded.

Face blazing, Draco got up and strode to the door, but didn't get a chance to open it.

"Who was on top?" was the man's next question.

Hearing it, Draco froze in his tracks. He didn't dare look at the tableau behind him, and was waiting for the words that would totally ruin him.

Gobsmacked to the point of being unable to speak, Harry slowly, and with great trepidation, raised his hand.

Arthur got up and started slowly pacing the room as he thought. "And it _was_ a triple vow bond? You felt the magic activate?"

Harry slowly nodded his head, wondering what was coming next.

Arthur strode up to Harry and slapped him on the back. "Good job!" he said with a grin, and headed for the door.

Harry felt his mouth drop open. He closed it with difficulty.

"What?" Draco exclaimed in outrage, whirling back to face the man. "Potter practically rapes me, and you say 'good job'?"

Mister Weasley levelled a cool gaze at the blond boy. "There's a world of difference between 'practically' and 'did', Mister Malfoy. Could rather have gone the other way as well, couldn't it? Would you have called it rape then? And now you can't be forced to take the Dark Mark against your will – or with it."

Draco looked at the man wide-eyed, only his vaunted self-control keeping him from gaping. "How— How did you know about that?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "I only told Potter," he added, sending an accusing glare Harry's way.

Harry shook his head, denying the silent accusation. Draco didn't look like he believed him. Harry knew that Arthur was part of the Order of the Phoenix, of course, and had probably been informed by Snape, their spy in Voldemort's camp, but he couldn't tell Draco that.

But with the reminder of Draco's defection, he decided that it would be best to finish up his business in Diagon Alley as soon as possible. As much he hated the thought, it might be a good idea to go to Twelve Grimmauld Place. There were just too many 'ifs', and too many of those could lead to life-threatening situations.

"That doesn't matter," Arthur told Draco firmly. "What does matter is that with this new development, you're now under protection."

"Which reminds me," he added, turning to Harry, "of the reason I stopped by in the first place. There's a little matter of a note?"

A bit dazed by now, it took Harry a moment to catch on to what Mister Weasley was referring. "I was just sitting down to write it when you arrived," he replied, gesturing to the desk, where the writing materials were set out, clearly awaiting use.

"Good. A bit earlier in the day would be appreciated though, Harry. We worry about you."

"Do I still need to write it?"

Arthur winked at him with a grin. "I have the evidence of my own eyes, haven't I? Now be safe, and don't be a stranger, right?"

Harry got up and hugged the man, then stepped back. "Thank you, Mister Weasley. For caring."

Arthur shrugged, then looked at Draco. "Are you that enamoured of my company, Mister Malfoy?" he asked pointedly, his voice notably cooler.

Draco glared at him, but stepped away from the door.

"Don't do anything stupid, young man," was Arthur's parting shot at the blond.

"I have no intention of having seven children," Draco riposted.

Mister Weasley paused momentarily as his posture became rigid; then, back straight, he shut the door firmly behind him and continued down the corridor.

"That wasn't exactly the brightest thing you've ever done," Harry told Draco stiffly. "You don't have many supporters."

Draco shrugged indifferently. "If my life depended on _his_ sort, I'd be as good as dead anyway."

Harry couldn't explain what a mistake Draco had made without telling him things he shouldn't know, so as frustrated as it made him, he kept quiet. He started putting away his writing supplies. "You may as well start getting settled in," he said, his intonation making it clear that he was in a mood – one that might get Draco slammed into a wall if there were any difficulties about it. He then went back to studying the potions text again. He was about half-way through it by this time.

Draco tried to be indifferent about it, but it bothered him – a little . . . a very little . . . hardly at all, in fact – that Harry was upset with him. But that he cared what Harry thought of him even a little bit made him upset with himself, and he started slamming things around as he unpacked what he needed.

Draco was a master of the art of denial. He cared far more than he was willing to admit.

Harry ignored his snit, and that made Draco even more upset.

"Potter!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, Malfoy?"

"Are you planning to starve me to death?"

"Pft!" Harry scoffed. "But it's no wonder you're hungry. I am, too. We missed lunch."

"Very observant of you," Draco drawled.

"Don't blame me, Malfoy; I wasn't the one who was attacked and robbed."

"Yes, that was brilliant of me, wasn't it?" Draco sneered sarcastically.

Harry twisted around in his seat and glared at the blond. "Is there a reason for this, or are you just having your daily entertainment?"

Draco stared, and swallowed. Harry's eyes had gone gold again. "Potter," he began carefully, "were you aware that your eyes are gold instead of green?"

It wasn't the first time since Mister Weasly had shown up, actually, but nobody had noticed at the time, being caught up in their own thoughts and feelings.

Distracted, Harry exclaimed, "What?" disbelievingly. "Stop trying to change the subject," he angrily directed.

"Look in a mirror," Draco insisted.

Doubtful, but curious, Harry got up and walked over to a mirror. But by the time he got there, his eyes had reverted to their normal green.

"Very funny, Malfoy," Harry said sarcastically. However, he'd now had time to calm down, so, "Let's go down and get a sandwich," he suggested.

Although very frustrated by not being believed, Draco knew he'd have to wait and hope he could vindicate himself at a later time. He also hoped that the next time, he wouldn't be the focus of those eyes. They made him shiver, and not in a nice way. Not that Harry made him shiver in a nice way, of course. Potter. He meant 'Potter'. Not 'Harry'.

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~o

1: Yes, I know: but shrinking spells take time, something an opportunistic thief wouldn't want to take too much of.

A/N: I did some research on the Harry Potter Lexicon. Seems the Ministry of Magic is pretty lax about under age magic overall, and only closely monitors Little Whinging due to 'previous circumstances'. Also, while they can tell that magic has been used, including what spell it was, they can't tell who cast the spell.

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~o

A 'thank you' goes out to my betas: Sheree, Ishe Leigh, and Julie, and a special 'thank you' to Andrew for his help in correcting my Americanisms.


	4. Chapter 4

**_No Light Without Shadows_**

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Four**

After their late afternoon meal, and after consulting with Draco about what he'd like, Harry made arrangements with the Leaky Cauldron's house elf to deliver a small, late supper.

"I need to spend some time in Gringotts," Harry said. "I assume you'll wish to go there as well so that you can get the funds to replace your 'tainted' goods?"

"Of course," Draco replied loftily, "but what possible reason—"

Harry interrupted before the blond could finish his insulting insinuation. "Actually, you might be interested in one of the vaults I'll be visiting."

_**'One** of the _vaults_'__?_ Draco thought, his eyes widening a fraction in surprise. The git had more than one? But all he said was, "What makes you believe that?"

"The Black family," Harry revealed.

It took a moment for Draco to get over the shock enough to speak, but, "And why would you have access to the Black family vaults?" he asked, his growing anger almost, but not quite hidden.

"It could be because I was made the Head of the Family Black." Harry's voice was laden with dark humour.

"HOW..." Draco stopped, and tried to get his temper under control.

Harry answered before he could try asking again.

"I told you Sirius Black was my godfather?" Harry didn't wait for the blond to acknowledge the question. "He was the Head of the Family Black until he was falsely imprisoned, at which time the Ministry of Magic stripped him of all titles, properties and monies, which were put in trust, and the mantle went to his heir. But since he didn't have a blood heir, everything went to me, as his godson – only I didn't know it until yesterday."

"They didn't have the right," Draco whispered intently. He was afraid that if he spoke any louder, he'd lose the tenuous control he now had.

Harry shrugged. "I argued the same thing, and the goblins agreed with me."

"**Then why**...," Draco swallowed and tried again, asking, "Why?" more quietly.

"He left a will. And since he's . . . gone..." Harry had a lump in his throat that was making it difficult to continue.

It didn't matter. Draco followed the train of thought easily, and ignored Harry's emotional response. "So he left everything to you. Including the title."

"All but a few other small bequests. Nobody else to leave it to," Harry whispered as he tried to regain control of his voice. His eyes met Draco's as he softly added, "You're to take over the Malfoy mantle, and you know he didn't approve of your father's politics." The words 'Death Eater' hung in the air, unspoken, between them. "And there is no other living male of the Black line."

"So you're now the Head of House Black," Draco accepted stoically.

Harry nodded. "And House Potter," he added.

"Never a very influential House," Draco sneered quietly. He was feeling a bit jealous, however, that at the same age as he, Potter was the head of two Houses. There may or may not be subordinate Houses; but even if there weren't, there were traditional and political rights and powers that went along with being the head of an old, established Wizarding line.

"Not in the public eye, anyway," Harry agreed softly.

"Now," he continued more firmly with an effort of will, and before Draco could follow up on that remark, "are you interested in seeing the vault, or not? I'd rather not be there all night because we've bickered the time away here."

The Slytherin eyed Harry with slight suspicion, but decided to follow up on that rather . . . odd remark at another time. 'Not in the public eye'? That implied power behind the scenes. But Draco had a feeling that Potter would just clam up if he was confronted on it right now. He knew _he_ would have.

"Yes; all right," Draco agreed.

Draco had been worrying about being reliant upon the family vaults in case he was cut off from them or the Ministry froze them. Now, with this development with Potter, he decided the odds weren't good for his continued, unopposed access to those monies, so he opened a personal vault and transferred part of the contents of several of the Malfoy vaults to it – the amount he'd be entitled to upon his majority, and not a knut more or less – and guaranteed that he was the only one with access or authority over it.

He wouldn't have dared such a move if his father were free.

He hadn't removed enough from any one vault that it would be noticeable without careful scrutiny, but it was a considerable amount, anyway: enough to last him many years if he were careful of his spending. Hopefully his preparations were for nothing, but it was best to be ready for any contingency.

It had taken a lot less time than Draco had thought it would, since his father had made similar arrangements for him before his incarceration, in preparation for Draco's coming of age. It had only taken changing a very few things, such as making it a private vault instead of a family vault, and the actual transfer of funds.

After retrieving the quantity of gold he thought he'd need for his shopping (forbidding Potter entrance to the Malfoy vaults, of course), Draco had followed the Gryffindor into the Black Family archival vault. He studied the family tree tapestry closely while Harry perused the most recent business records (self-updating). This family tree, unlike the copy his mother had, had far more names on it. It didn't escape him that Harry was a distant cousin, but it didn't matter, either.

While there, Draco also stumbled upon the Black Family signet ring, and tried it on. After a couple of seconds, during which the magic inherent in the ring assessed him, it started to burn. Draco's frantic efforts to remove it drew Harry's attention. Harry grasped the ring and took it off the blond's finger easily. Draco was quite relieved not only to be rid of it, but to find that there was no damage to his digit.

"Is it a curse ring?" Harry asked, eyeing the ring curiously.

"It's the Black Family signet ring, Potter!" Draco spat. Then a sly idea occurred to him. "Why don't _you_ put it on, since you're now the House Head?"

Harry tossed the ring back into the jewellery box it had come from. "Trying to share the humiliation, Malfoy?" he asked casually.

Draco scowled at Harry's lucky guess. "Scared, Potter?"

Harry looked up at Draco from his perusal of the other contents of the jewellery box. "Why would you think I'd still react to childhood taunts?" he asked curiously. In truth there _had_ been a twinge of angry reaction in his chest, but it was easily enough suppressed and ignored.

Draco mentally slapped himself. He was slipping, or Harry had changed more than he thought. He'd try another tack.

"It will only accept the true Head of House Black," the blond explained, as though to a child. "So the question is are you, or are you not?"

Harry stared into Draco's eyes for quite a long time, looking for any sign of deceit before he turned and picked the ring up again. And stared into the blond's eyes again as he slipped the ring on. He felt the ring assessing him, then it warmed and settled onto his finger, resizing itself to fit perfectly.

When Draco saw that, his face flushed angrily, and he stalked out of the vault. He would have gone back to the Leaky Cauldron, but the Goblin that had accompanied them refused to leave 'Mister Potter' down there alone in order to take the blond up to ground level, so he had to wait until Harry was finished.

Even then, however, Harry wasn't ready to go back up to Diagon Alley, but insisted on visiting the Potter vaults. He searched through three of them before he found what he was looking for: the Potter signet ring. Harry assumed it was the Potter signet ring, anyway. He'd never seen the Potter crest, unless it was that gold seahorse design at the top of the Potter family tree tapestry. But this ring didn't bear the same design, having crossed swords over a stylised flame. At any rate, the ring accepted him, and settled in on the finger next to the Black signet ring.

When they got back to the 'Cauldron, Tom spotted Harry and called him over. He gave Draco a polite nod, but that was all. "There's an owl seems to have a parcel for yuh, Harry," the man informed him, pointing at a white-faced, tawny coloured barn owl, "from Gringotts."

Harry approached the bird, who peered at him, then released a small package and an envelope with the Gringotts seal on it to him. Curious, Harry opened the envelope as they were heading to their room, and started reading. They had just reached the door when Harry stopped dead in his tracks, unmoving as he stared at the letter.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, Potter; at least wait until we're inside before you decide to become catatonic! Now, if you would?"

Harry acted as though he hadn't heard a thing, still staring at the letter in his hand.

"Move, Potter!" Draco demanded. And then he started to become uneasy. Had the letter been a trick? Had a curse been attached to it? Not that he was worried about Harry – no, Potter! But if something happened to the Gryffindor, who would protect _him_?

Even Draco was starting to realise that he was protesting his disinterest just a little too much . . . and it bothered him.

"Potter! Snap out of it!" he snarled with a short, sharp shove of the Gryffindor's shoulder.

Harry looked at the blond, then holding up the still-wrapped box, he said, "It's the Potter signet ring."

"And this is of interest because...?"

"So what's this?" Harry asked, holding up the hand with the other two signet rings on it, and emphasising the one he'd picked up from the Potter family archival vault.

Draco looked. It took awhile for him to recall why the design seemed familiar and its significance, but then he snapped, "This isn't the place for this conversation, Potter. Inside. Now."

"That was in the Potter vaults?" Draco asked sharply, once they were behind closed doors and a few locking and silencing charms.

"Getting a little demanding, aren't you?" Harry asked, an edge to his voice.

Draco's tone was derisive as he replied, "You have no idea what that is, do you?"

"So why don't you tell me?" Harry said threateningly, from far too close.

Draco was now in a far worse position than he'd wanted to be. He'd hardly seen Potter move, but suddenly the Gryffindor was straddling his now-prone form, the dark-haired boy's hands firmly gripping the front of Draco's shirt, with two brightly glowing gold eyes staring into his own from too few inches away. How had he forgotten those gold eyes? And how had Potter moved so quickly?

"Potter..." Draco said shakily, while attempting to sound soothing.

"Well?" Harry demanded.

"If you'd just calm down?"

"Tell me!"

"Dæmentelen family," Draco revealed as calmly as he could. He hadn't been so scared since that time in First Year when he and Harry had been on detention in the Forbidden Forest and seen that . . . whatever it was. "Died out centuries ago. **The** most powerful family ever. It was thought that..." Draco's voice died away as the myth about that family connected with his current reality.

He had been wrong. He had never known true fear until now. Even his father in a temper, about to cast the Cruciatus Curse on him, hadn't inspired this kind of fear.

Harry's voice was deep and forceful as he growled, "Thought what?"

"It was _thought_ that they'd died out, anyway," Draco almost moaned as his body responded to Harry's growl. But he was almost grateful for it, since it mitigated his fear. He brought himself under control with a gasp. "Obviously everyone was wrong, since you're wearing their ring."

He hoped Potter bought it, because Draco really didn't want to be the one to tell him. With the Gryffindor's obsession with trying to be 'normal', he was likely to tear apart the bearer of this news. But if he was right about Potter's heritage, it would explain a great many things, from how a baby could survive an Avada Kedavra, to his own fascination with young Harry since they first met, and even to his current predicament vis-à-vis losing enough control to make that thrice-cursed triple vow.

Everyone thought the Malfoys got their pale good looks from interbreeding with Veela. It wasn't from breeding with veela. Veela were little more than animals who lived to mate, and serve their mates. No, his ancestors had been far more ambitious.

Draco breathed an almost unnoticeable sigh of relief when Harry got off him.

Harry looked at the blond, his face blank, for quite a while. Draco was hiding something from him. What made him decide against pushing the issue was that he was sure Malfoy wasn't hiding the information from any malicious intent, but out of fear. And that had him wondering what the Slytherin could know about him that he'd be afraid to tell him? That it was connected to the Dæmentelen family, he was sure. But was the information detrimental to the Malfoys, or was there something else? Was there a blood feud between the two families?

A few minutes later, when Draco was busy with something else, Harry opened the package from Gringotts, which did indeed contain a signet ring; this one with the seahorse design he'd seen at the top of the Potter tapestry. He put it on, with now-familiar results. But three signet rings on one hand made the hand feel awkward, so he took the Dæmentelen ring off his right hand and put it on the middle finger of his left hand. It felt more natural there somehow, anyway.

According to the letter from Gringotts the ring had been held in trust by the goblins themselves because there had been no-one alive with the authority to open the main Potter vaults until Harry had come of age – only the small vault set aside to pay for Harry's tuition.

The rest of the evening was spent quietly studying texts that related to those subjects that each had decided to continue in the coming year at Hogwarts. Even their evening meal did little to break the spell of silence that had fallen between them. But Harry kept sending speculative looks at Draco every so often, all afternoon and evening.

And those speculative looks had kept Draco right on edge the whole time. He had to struggle to try to retain what he read. Every glance of those vibrant green eyes almost felt like a blow on his skin. He was so wound up by the time Potter announced it was time to get some sleep that he knew he'd never get _any_ sleep. He almost decided to ignore the Gryffindor and stay up all night, but then had another idea. And if he could make Potter feel badly at the same time...

Draco turned down the sheets, stripped bare, and got on the bed on all fours. Gathering a pillow to himself, he put his head down on it, leaving his legs spread and his buttocks high, exposing his opening. "This is what you want, isn't it?" he asked bitterly.

Despite his words, his own manhood was fully tumescent. He tried to ignore the implications of that.

Harry wanted to deny it, but his body was screaming 'YES!' He stripped as well, and climbed up on the bed behind the blond. Putting one hand on Draco's lower back to brace himself, he reached between the pale thighs and started stroking and playing with the equipment he found there. But he found he couldn't just take the boy without asking, "Is this what _you_ want?"

Draco hadn't expected to be asked that. This _was_ his idea, but as he considered the question, he found that he was still angry on many levels; with Harry, with himself, with his father, with Voldemort... But the fight and subsequent sex, even if . . . no, perhaps **because** he'd been on the receiving end, some of that tension and anger had been worked out. That morning had helped as well. But the bloody Boy-Who-Lived had got on his last nerve this evening, and he was hoping this would help. But was that the only reason? He didn't want to think about it any more. He needed to work off some tension.

"Do it," he ground out.

"Do you _want_ it?" Harry insisted on knowing. His erection was so full it was hurting, and if Draco answered 'no' . . . well, Harry wasn't sure if he'd go with the Gryffindor side of his nature, or take the blond anyway. Fortunately, he didn't have to find out.

"Yes!" Draco said, frustrated and upset to have been made to admit it. In the back of his mind, given the likelihood of Harry's genetic background, he knew they'd likely have wound up like this eventually anyway, but...

Harry entering him and touching something in him _just so_ short-circuited his thoughts.

When they were done, having had some very energetic and sometimes acrobatic sex, changing positions several times and exploring what worked for them and what didn't, despite their frequent awkwardness, Draco lay there, feeling more than a bit lost. He didn't like it, but it seemed his enmity with the Gryffindor was waning. Hel's bells, it was disintegrating at far too rapid a rate.1 He wasn't comfortable with their relationship changing. Not a bit of it. They had been bitter rivals for several years, but now . . . now he had been completely torn loose from his moorings. But despite his always being the receptive partner – a position he had always avoided before – the sex was amazing.

Harry looked down to see tears streaming down Malfoy's face. He gently gathered the blond up in his arms, one arm about the pale shoulders, the hand of the other stroking Draco's back and buttocks.

"Damn you, Potter," Draco whispered hoarsely, trying to hide in Harry's chest the tears he had just noticed he was shedding. "Damn you."

"I know, Malfoy. I know," Harry whispered back soothingly.

_'No, you don't,'_ Draco thought. And then Harry did something he hadn't expected. Harry kissed him.

Now, it must be said that there _had_ been kissing during the sex they'd had, both this time and the times before, but it had been harsh, demanding, lustful kissing. This was different. This was . . . tender – caring. And Draco's emotions latched onto it like a drowning man would latch onto a life jacket.

"Mine, mine, mine," Harry whispered in the blond's ear a short while later, each word uttered between quick, soft, butterfly kisses. A ripple of magic could be felt.

Draco's eyes widened, and he tensed. "What did you just **do**, Potter?" he whispered fearfully.

"I accepted your vow," Harry replied comfortably.

Draco groaned, collapsing back into Harry's embrace. If there had been any hope of getting out from under the triple vow before, no matter how remote, there wasn't now. The circle was complete.

"By the way," Harry continued conversationally, completely unaware of the implications of what he'd done, "if you have any more shopping to do, it needs to be done first thing tomorrow. I don't believe we're safe here any longer."

Draco's body tensed, his other concerns pushed aside for the moment. "What have you learned?" he asked.

The next morning after they breakfasted, Draco took off for Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions, and Harry went to Gringotts. He needed to find anything more he could about the Family Dæmentelen.

Harry hadn't, of course, told Draco his entire reasoning for their need to find another place of refuge, just that he'd been given information that led him to believe that they might have 'certain parties' looking for them. It would have been too much to expect Draco to accept that at face value, but Harry had refused to divulge anything more, and Draco hadn't pushed nearly as hard as Harry thought he would.

Three hours later, Harry strode out of Gringotts with a lot more questions but, hopefully, with the books that would give him the answers – shrunk and carefully secreted on his person. He found Draco still in Madam Malkin's – of course.

The blond took one look at Harry and nearly burst out laughing. But that wouldn't have been dignified, so he only smirked – broadly. "Merlin, Potter; have you been to see the Weasley twins?"

Harry groaned, and held his head. The twins! Here he'd been in Diagon Alley, and he'd not been to see the twins in their new shop! In his own defence, a lot had happened, and there _had_ been a lot on his mind, but they'd never forgive him if he left without dropping in on them. Well, they would, but they'd humiliate him to a fare-thee-well with their pranks first.

"I haven't. But I'll need to," Harry said resignedly. Actually it was likely to be fun, but he'd planned to be in Grimmauld Place sooner. He frowned. "What made you think I had?"

Harry's clothes were too small. Harry's _new_ clothes. But instead of his clothes having been shrunk, as Draco had thought, Harry had grown. Overnight he'd grown a full inch, his shoulders had broadened, and his hair had grown two inches. He'd noticed his clothes fit more snugly that morning, but hadn't paid it much attention; and Draco had been avoiding looking at him as well, so he probably hadn't noticed until now, either.

Well that was rather obvious, as the Slytherin would have remarked upon it as soon as he _had_ noticed.

It was a good thing he was at Madam Malkin's. Harry had to cancel most of his order, save the socks and underwear. Since only a small part of the order had been made up by that time, Harry was able to get most of the cost of his order refunded. He asked for it to go towards credit for a new order, to be made up sometime in the future. But since some of the order _had_ been made up, he only got part of the money for that back. What had been made would be sold on the rack, since Harry couldn't use it any longer, but he still had to pay a small penalty for not taking the order.

His school robes and cloaks could be let out, but not knowing if the phenomenon would happen again, Harry only ordered three pairs of trousers, six shirts, and one dress robe – green and gold. Madam Malkin took pity on him and taught Harry a resizing spell, but cautioned him that enlarging spells didn't create more fabric, but only stretched it, thinning and weakening the material, so he could only use it once or twice per item of clothing before risking the item falling to pieces while he was wearing it.

Upon being asked, she informed him that leather was more durable and the charm would have less effect on its durability. He would still have to watch that it didn't get too thin, however. Dragon hide was another matter. It was almost impervious to magic, so Harry would have to exchange his purchases for larger sizes. For now, Harry decided to just return the items for credit and stop his order for the dragonhide armour, then wait a few months to see if he grew any more before chancing a re-order.

Once those tasks were done and Harry was once again in comfortably fitting clothes and footwear (his feet having grown also), he made his way to the twins' new shop at Number 93, Diagon Alley, which they had dubbed 'Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes', while Draco went back to the Leaky Cauldron to make sure everything was packed and ready to go. The blond had categorically refused to set foot in a shop run by Weasleys. Probably wise, Harry thought, given his history with them.

"Oy! Harry!" one of the twins said with a wide smile as he spotted Harry entering their shop.

"How's our favourite..." the other continued, before trailing off.

"Hey, mate, when did _you_ start growing up?" they said together, grinning widely.

"Last night," Harry replied sourly. But the twins' infectious humour had him smiling back at them.

Fred (at least Harry _thought_ it was Fred) came over and put an arm around Harry's shoulders. "So what happened last night, Harry o' my heart?" he asked.

Cocking an eyebrow at the redhead and edging away from him, Harry said, "I grew an inch and I got a boyfriend – I think."

The twins exchanged glances, then, "You **think** you got a boyfriend?" the other twin asked sceptically.

"Um... You don't seem to be surprised that it's a bloke?"

Both twins shrugged. "We thought you'd hook up with Ginny," Fred started,

"Or some other bird," George continued. "But if you prefer blokes..."

". . . It's no problem," Fred said. "But about this bloke of **yours**...?"

"Er . . . Draco Malfoy?" Harry ventured, ready to dodge or run as the need arose.

Fred fell dramatically onto the floor, whilst George almost leapt forward, grabbing desperately onto the other edge of the sales counter as if afraid of doing the same.

Harry rolled his eyes at their antics.

"You're having us on, right?" 'Fred' asked from the floor.

Harry shook his head.

"When did you two even become friends?" asked George.

Harry frowned. "It's not as though we're exactly _friends_, even now," he said.

"So you're just shagging?" asked Fred as he brushed himself off, having picked himself off the floor.

"So how is business?" Harry asked, in a desperate attempt to redirect the conversation.

"Harry... Dear, _dear_ Harry," Fred said pityingly as he led Harry over to a seat behind the counter,

". . .You _know_ you're going to answer our questions," George continued,

". . .So why not save yourself the trouble and just answer them now?" Fred finished.

Harry sighed. Having seen the twins in action before, he knew he'd be in for it if he didn't talk, and he'd wind up telling anyway. So he said, "We met in Diagon Alley, where we had words; he followed me to my room: we fought, we shagged, we slept, he got robbed and moved in... That's about it, really," Harry said, as he nervously played with the rings on his fingers.

The twins exchanged glances. There was obviously more to it than that, but they wouldn't push . . . for now. Except... "Malfoy got robbed?" the one Harry thought was Fred asked.

"And if you don't mind..."

". . .When did you become the Head of three families?"

Harry nodded, totally ignoring the fact that the second question had been asked. "Someone ambushed him. I found him and took him to the medical practice in Knockturn Alley..." Harry paused, sure that there would be questions or comments about him being in Knockturn Alley, but when there weren't, he continued. ". . .and that's where my eyes got corrected as well," Harry revealed, hoping again to change the topic of conversation.

"Wondered about that," George put in.

"What we were asking about originally, you know," Fred commented.

"You look older without the round specs," George said, nodding. "More mature."

Harry blushed. He could have saved himself a **lot** of trouble and embarrassment if he'd only asked what the twins were talking about.

"Why you two weren't sorted into Slytherin..." he grumbled.

"Coming up in the world too, aren't ya?" Fred added, looking Harry's seated form up and down.

"Much better than you used to wear," George contributed approvingly.

"And you still haven't explained the signet rings?" Fred reminded Harry.

Harry sighed. The information would likely be in The Daily Prophet tomorrow, anyway. "The Potter family, of course," Harry started, pointing out the ring he meant.

The twins nodded their understanding of that.

"And . . . Sirius made me the heir of the Family Black, since there are no living male Blacks..."

The twins nodded a bit more slowly.

"Draco Malfoy?" George questioned, knowing the Slytherin git would normally have been next in line.

"Death Eater Junior? That's what Sirius called him," Harry said. It was enough of an explanation. The logical heir could be bypassed if there was a good enough reason. Normally politics wouldn't have been considered a good enough reason, but having a father who was a murderer many times over, with the likely prospect of the son becoming one himself, willing or not, was.

"And the other?"

"The Family Dæmentelen," Harry said with a frown. "I've never heard of them. Draco said they were supposed to have died out ages ago."

It turned out the twins had never heard of the family, either.

They speculated about them for a while, and then the topic of conversation turned to more innocuous things. Among other things, Harry found out that custom, while slow due to being a new business, was starting to pick up as word of mouth spread the news about the joke shop: mostly children and Hogwarts pupils, but quite a few young adults, too.

"No returns on your investment yet, Harry, but—"

"It was a gift!" Harry said adamantly. "I gave it you because I don't want anything to do with it." Harry would have continued his rant, citing that it was blood money due to Cedric Diggory's death, but he didn't want the twins to decide _they_ didn't want it, either.

Again, the twins exchanged glances. They'd drop the subject, but their pride was at stake – something Harry didn't seem to realise. They'd taken the money, but with the idea of it being a loan or investment on Harry's part. They wouldn't take charity. Harry's share of the profits would be set aside for now, when there were some, and given him when he couldn't refuse it; perhaps as a birthday or Yule gift. They changed the subject to Harry's upcoming school year, instead.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry called a halt to his stopover.

"I'm sure you two have more important things to do than while the day away with me and, unfortunately, I need to be elsewhere soon as well," Harry told them. One or the other of the twins had needed to wait on a customer every so often, so his comment wasn't all that untoward.

"Hardly cricket, Harry..."

". . . To remind us of the real world..."

". . . When we were just catching up."

"I'm sorry, guys, but Draco _is_ waiting for me." Harry was _almost_ used to the twins finishing each other's sentences in their conversations, though thankfully they didn't always do it. But it _could_ get disconcerting if they did it over too long a period of time.

"Why are we _here_, Potter?" Draco asked, his disdain for where he found himself clear on his face.

They had just stepped off the Knight Bus, having been delivered to the street called Grimmauld Place.

"This is where we'll find the dwelling of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," Harry informed him, using its formal title for Draco's sake.

"The Black mansion? Here?" The young Malfoy's disbelieving expression and tone was understandable. It was a rather run-down neighbourhood, most of the houses being rather shabby, although it could be seen that at one time it must have been rather upscale. That time, however, was long past.

Harry shrugged. "It's rather ramshackle, now," was his only comment. "Come on." He crossed the street towards what appeared to be an empty lot between two large, formerly beautiful Victorian-style houses which were now in rather poor repair. It was only as his feet hit the pavement in front of number twelve that Harry could see it, and then only because he knew it was there and had been here a few times before. Even though he now owned the property it was still Unplottable and had all the other protections and wards on it, although it was no longer under the Fidelius Charm. Dumbledore had taken it off when they had vacated the place, expecting Bellatrix Lestrange to inherit the property after Sirius' death.

"Where are you going, Potter? There's nothing here!"

"Just take my hand and close your eyes. Don't open them before I tell you, or we'll both be in trouble." Harry wasn't exactly sure that was still true, but he wasn't going to take any chances

"Where are we, anyway?" Draco asked.

Harry almost wished that Draco had maintained the sulky silence he'd been subjected to all day. "I can't tell you that, but King's Cross Station is about a twenty minute walk from here," Harry said. He didn't know if the Order would be coming back to the house, and didn't want to jeopardise them if they were. Despite their changing relationship, Harry was still wary of trusting Draco. "Now do you want—"

"All right; my eyes are closed. But if you run me into anything, or trip me, I'll hex..." The threat had been automatic – a habit. But Draco's new knowledge of his (ex?) arch-rival made him stop. He mightn't want to threaten or attack Potter, but that didn't mean that he wasn't going to keep vexing the Gryffindor . . . up to a point.

Harry rolled his eyes, then took the blond's arm before leading him to the steps. "All right, now we have..." Harry paused as he counted. ". . . seven steps up to the door. Keep your eyes shut and take it slowly. I'll wait for you."

"Yes, yes, Potter. We all know your—"

"Would you rather I left you here?" Harry irritably inquired in response to Draco's snide tones.

"Keep your trousers on, Potter." But Draco had already felt out the first riser with his foot, had mounted it, and was feeling for the top of the next. In no time they were at the door.

"When we get inside, keep your voice down," Harry advised. "There's a portrait of Mrs Black that screams bloody murder at anyone who enters who isn't a pureblood Dark wizard."

"How . . . amusing," was Draco's comment. "And you're all too inept to take her down, of course."

Harry had opened the door by that time, and was leading Draco in. "The sticking charm has resisted everyone's best efforts," was Harry's patience-strained explanation.

"Harry? HARRY!" hit Harry's ears.

"BLOOD TRAITORS! SWINE! UNNATURAL CREATURES! HOW DARE YOU DEFILE..." Walburga Black was in full voice.

"Harry! Help me with these curtains, will you, please?" Remus Lupin urgently requested as the portrait continued to scream, and began striding rapidly towards the large portrait from which the strident screeching issued. "I apologise for setting her off, but you took me by surprise!" Remus said over his shoulder.

Harry closed his eyes and grit his teeth. He had truly hoped that the house would be empty. That it not only wasn't, but also held the only other person who would have been devastated by Sirius' death, was a strain that he'd hoped to avoid. And to have to listen to that damnable portrait screaming insults...!

Beside him, Draco was uncharacteristically silent. Harry's eyes had gone golden again, just before they were shut.

Harry unclenched his fists and strode forward. Reaching the portrait, he glared at the woman in it whilst reaching for the curtains on the other side of it. "**Shut it, you harridan!**" he yelled at her.

Mrs Black looked at Harry, opened her mouth to screech at him, did an almost comical double-take upon seeing his eyes, and immediately went silent. Not only that, but she performed a deep curtsey.

"Forgive me, my lord; I knew not that your line had survived," she said in meek, if aristocratic tones.

Remus and Harry, their hands full of the tattered velvet curtains that they had been trying to draw across the portrait, stared at her in shock.

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~o

1: Hel is a Norse goddess, ruling over the underworld of Hel, or Helheim; but it's quite a different place than the Christian Hell.

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~o

Many thanks to Andrew, for his work in correcting my Americanisms.


	5. Chapter 5

**_No Light Without Shadows_**

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Five**

"Where are your glasses?" Remus asked after they'd covered the former owner's portrait. He had so many questions running through his head, from wanting to know why young Malfoy was with Harry, to why Harry had left the Dursleys early, or why Mrs Black's portrait had acted the way she had. He had no idea why his mind picked that particular question to fixate on and ask.

"I had my eyesight corrected," Harry replied tiredly. Not that he was actually tired: he just wasn't ready to talk to Remus. He was sure the werewolf would blame him for Sirius' death.

"Oh, really? When?"

"Yesterday," Harry said.

"You look better without them," Lupin said uneasily. "James should have had his done as well."

"He was probably smarter than I," Harry replied with a faint grin. "'Uncomfortable' doesn't even _begin_ to cover it."

Remus sounded rather awkward as he tried to fill the silence. "Yes, well... Speaking of being uncomfortable, you'd probably like to refresh yourselves."

"Yes, thank you," Harry said, grateful of the excuse to escape. They'd only left The Leaky Cauldron a few minutes before, so they really didn't need to, but Harry still didn't want to deal with the werewolf right now. Glancing towards where he'd left Draco, Harry was surprised to see him still standing there. He'd have thought the blond would have gone into the sitting room and made himself comfortable.

"Is my old room still available?" he asked the man.

"Nobody here but me at the moment."

"Do you expect visitors any time soon?" Harry asked, referring to members of the Order of the Phoenix. Nobody else would have reason to come here, and those would most likely be looking for him.

Remus glanced furtively at Draco, a move not lost on either of the two young men. Harry was rather incensed at the lack of trust this showed in his judgment for a moment, until he remembered that Remus had good reason. That didn't stop him from feeling slighted, however.

"I know about Dumbledore's little vigilante group; it's been in the 'Prophet. And considering the protections on this place, it's not hard to guess this is where they meet. But it's not as though I could lead anyone here," Draco said defensively. And then he deridingly added, "Although why _anyone_ would willingly enter this run-down rat trap..." Draco's visage clearly showed his opinion of his surroundings.

This is where the Order _had_ met until Sirius' death, and everyone had thought Draco or Bellatrix Lestrange would inherit it. Harry had assumed they'd start coming back here now, since Sirius had left it to him. And he agreed, really, with Draco's assessment of the house, but the place hadn't had any kind of care or maintenance for at least fifteen years – maybe more – and it did belong to him, now. As for his question, a look at Remus convinced him that it might be better to ask it again later, so he decided to reply to Draco's remark instead.

"Abandon any building for over fifteen years and see what kind of shape it's in," he gently rebuked Draco. "A little..." Harry looked around him again. "All right ... a _lot_ of tender loving care, and it could be quite nice once again."

Draco raised a sceptical eyebrow at Harry, but didn't challenge him on his statement. After all, a few house elves and a lot of magic and money could do wonders – as long you didn't go out of doors. There wasn't a lot you could do about the neighbours. He shrugged, dismissing the subject.

"So where am I sleeping?" the blond asked.

"Unless some major cleaning has been done since the last time I was here, I would assume my room – and Remus' – would be the least dirty. A few scouring and cleaning charms will make it liveable until we can get some real cleaning done," Harry replied matter-of-factly.

Since Remus didn't inform him differently, it was a safe bet he was right about the state of the rest of the house, despite the cleaning he, his friends, and the Weasley clan had done a while back.

"So I'm sleeping with you again?" Draco sounded a bit irritated.

Remus had, of course, been watching and listening to all this. The 'again' in the blond's last sentence rather startled him.

"What **is** your relationship with young Mister Malfoy, Harry?" he asked. He had heard that young Malfoy had refused the Mark, but his presence with Harry was a bit worrying.

Harry cocked his head, regarding the blond as he thought about the question. "I'm not sure," he said softly, before looking at the werewolf, "but it's better than it was."

Upon hearing that, Draco looked at Harry a bit oddly. Privately he agreed, but he wasn't about to say so. He took a deep breath, as though bracing himself for an ordeal and asked, with as much distaste as he could muster, "So where is this room we'll be sharing, then?"

Draco looked at everything suspiciously as they headed up the grand staircase, taking great care that his clothing didn't brush up against anything. Entering the room they were to share didn't help matters.

"Merlin's beard, Potter!" Draco exclaimed. "Haven't you heard of house elves?"

"Too well," Harry grumbled.

"Then by all that's holy, why live like this?"

"Two words, Draco: 'Kreacher', and 'Dobby'. Sound familiar?"

"Vaguely," Draco admitted with a small frown of concentration.

"Dobby almost killed me in our Second Year – several times – in his misguided attempts to 'save' me, and Sirius sent Kreacher away, which allowed the foul creature to go to Malfoy Manor, and eventually led to Sirius' death."

"Wasn't Dobby one of ours?" Draco asked in a puzzled manner, as he tried to place where he'd heard that name.

"Yes. I must admit that he _did_ save my life after I tricked your father into freeing him," Harry said with a small, sly smile. "From your father. Sent him arse over elbow down the stairs when he tried to kill me."

"The house elf?"

"Your father."

"He didn't."

"He did."

"Why?"

Harry looked closely at Draco. "Are you ready to hear some hard truths about your father?" he asked.

Draco looked carefully at Harry, then slowly shook his head. "I don't think so," he admitted. From what he could see in Harry's expression, the Gryffindor would tell him nothing but the truth, and those truths were likely to be quite unpleasant. He'd like to hold onto his illusions about his father for a while longer. But admitting that they likely _were_ illusions made him wonder, and weakened his perceptions of his father anyway.

"In that case you might want to stand back," Harry said as a pale wand appeared in his hand. "I'm not quite sure what the results are going to be." He raised the wand – his unregistered one – as Draco stepped outside the room, and cast "_Scourgify!_" at a chair.

The spell was the only cleaning spell Harry knew, and it wasn't a gentle one. Yes, he had learned others during his revising, but he hadn't had a chance to practise them, and he didn't want to give Draco any amunition for his verbal barbs if they didn't work. An invisible 'wind' whipped around the room ripping loose wallpaper from the walls, and dust, grime and cobwebs from the rest of the room. When it was finished the room was clean, but looked as though every surface had been scrubbed with sandpaper.

Harry stared at the results with disbelieving eyes. He had only meant to clean a chair. _One chair!_

"Fascinating, Potter," came Draco Malfoy's drawling tones as he surveyed the damage. "What may we expect of you next: wholesale demolition?"

"Do you have anything _helpful_ to say?" Harry snarled, irritated out of his amazement.

"Actually, yes," Draco drawled. "You might try 'Reparo'."

Harry looked at him, surprised that _Malfoy_ was being helpful. The suggestion was a good one though, and given the way the Scourgify had worked as it had, a possibility. But... "Don't you have to be specific with that?" Harry asked, remembering Hermione always using 'Occulus Reparo' when his glasses had broken. The spell would certainly work, but he wasn't looking forward to casting it half the night in order to repair all this damage if he had to be specific.

Draco looked at him thoughtfully. As galling as it was, he admitted, "_I_ would, yes. But from what I just saw, you might be able to be a bit more general; such as 'Dormare Reparo'."1

Harry shrugged. "It's worth a go," he admitted.

Draco discreetly withdrew from the room again, his instincts urging caution.

'Dormare Reparo', however, was still a bit too specific. Instead of the room and all of its contents being affected, only the room itself – walls, floor and ceiling – was mostly repaired; at least enough to look quite presentable, if not quite new. Harry then had to go on to casting the spell on the furnishings, and then the bedding and room accessories before he was satisfied. None of it had been brought to a state looking anything like new other than the bedding, bed canopy and curtains, but it was all in better condition than it had likely seen in many years. Considering that the bedding _had_ been brought to like-new condition, Harry thought it likely that the lack of such results on the rest of the room was due to their being much older.

Draco came back in and looked around. "Very good, Potter. You'd never make a room designer, but at least it's liveable – if only barely," he added as he realised he'd just complimented Harry.

"I'm so glad you approve, your majesty," Harry said dryly. "I'll let you unpack us, then," he continued, setting down and enlarging their miniaturised trunks from his pocket, and then flopping back on the bed.

The blond looked scandalised. "You can't honestly expect me to... I won't do it! I won't be your bloody servant!"

"I cleaned the room," Harry pointed out.

"It's **your** bloody _house!_"

"You have a point," Harry admitted. The fact that Draco seemed to be honestly reacting instead of hiding behind his practised, urbane masks didn't escape him, although it did puzzle him. But he was enjoying the game. He liked getting a little of his own back, after Malfoy had been pecking at him.

When Harry said nothing else, but continued to just lie there, Draco glared disbelievingly at him. "You _still_ expect me to unpack for you?"

Harry lifted his head and looked curiously at the blond. "Of course not," he said mildly. "Whatever gave you _that_ idea?"

Draco stared at the dark-haired young man. He had just been played amazingly well – by a _Gryffindor!_ That wasn't how Gryffindors were supposed to act! Totally outraged for a different reason now, he started ranting at Harry. It didn't help that Potter just laid there grinning at him.

When Harry started getting tired of it he got off the bed and strolled up to the blond. He took Draco's head in his hands – and was amazed when the Slytherin didn't try to hex him right then and there, but just continued haranguing him – said, "Draco . . . shut up," and kissed him.

Draco had been so in his stride that he hadn't taken any notice of Harry walking up to him, and he didn't feel the least bit threatened when the Gryffindor had threaded his hands into his perfect hair. He was perfectly happy venting his spleen at the other teen. But suddenly he was being kissed, and that threw him completely off balance. For one thing, he was no longer able to talk. And Harry definitely needed a seeing to. Er . . . talking to. Lecture. When he could start thinking again, he threw himself back from the other boy.

"What do you think you're doing, Potter?" he said furiously. "I'm angry, here!"

Harry didn't know when it had happened – well, he had an idea – but where Draco Malfoy was concerned, he no longer feared. Draco was a free person, but he also belonged to him. His magic said so. He smirked. "You're cute when you're angry."

Draco stared. He'd been doing a lot of that since he entered this room. Maybe that was it. Maybe it was the room. Draco spun on his heels, and left the room. He was **not** 'cute'. He was handsome, debonair, smooth, masculinely beautiful, and above all, _dangerous._ He was not _cute!_ And he wasn't running away, either. It was just a . . . tactical retreat . . . to lure the infuriating Boy Who Lived into a false sense of security. Of course. That was it. After all, Malfoys didn't run away.

Draco stalked into the drawing room and threw himself onto the settee in a snit. How _dare_ Potter be so . . . so . . . Slytherin! Except few Slytherins would have had the courage to ignore a Malfoy's mood when he was on a rampage. Draco found himself melting at the thought of how masterful and dominating and gentle Potter could be, before he bethought himself and stiffened his resolve. Damned Gryffindor, anyway.

Upstairs, Harry smiled to himself about the departed Malfoy, then dug out one of the books he'd taken from the Potter book archive. Since it was only for a few days, he wouldn't mind living out of his trunk. It didn't need to be unpacked yet. He sat, opened the book, and started sampling random pages, looking for anything that might pertain to his heritage.

"Mister Malfoy," Remus said resolutely to the blond teen when he ran across him a short time later. But was the boy _pouting_? No matter. He had questions, and the young man had answers he meant to have.

Remus didn't get much in the way of answers, however. Draco had aloofly assured him that no, he had no immediate plans to harm or kill Potter, although the great prat seemed to keep begging for it.

But when the werewolf asked if it were true that he'd refused the Dark Mark, Draco had said that he had no intention of answering that question for every Tom, Dick and Harry who walked up and asked. If someone with the proper authority and a need to know required it of him, he would answer it then.

When his mother had presented Draco with a note stating that he would be receiving the Dark Mark, he had categorically refused. His father was in prison for following that madman, for Merlin's sake; how could he be expected to repeat the mistake? He was just happy that it was his mother who had told him. Anyone else would have hexed him upon his refusal and taken him before 'He Who Must Not Be Named' immediately, likely leading to hours of torture and, if he was lucky, death. As it was, he had time to pack and get out. He hoped his mother was alright, though.

Remus' questions about Draco's relationship with Potter and why he was accompanying him were met with cold silence after the werewolf was told, "I see no earthly reason why you would need to know that." Draco had then steadfastly ignored the werewolf's so-called 'reasons' he needed to know.

Draco might have been more forthcoming had he known how much Harry would have approved of this attitude. But likely not. It was a matter of principle.

Harry couldn't concentrate. He was in his godfather's house, and his godfather would never be setting foot in it again. He almost wanted to raze it to the ground, so he needn't be reminded of the fact all the time – or of the conditions Sirius had lived in, in his last couple of years. But he couldn't spurn the man's last gift like that. The least he could do was try to make the old house a place his godfather could be proud of again, wherever he was. He couldn't do it himself, though. He didn't know enough to be able to do everything that was likely needed.

Kreacher should have kept the place up, but hadn't. The house elf, along with Dobby, was the perfect example of how all living beings are individuals, though. Dobby was . . . unique. Kreacher was a traitorous . . . _thing_ that had betrayed his master, and the hospitality his master had extended to others. Both were aberrations insofar as most house elves were concerned, though.

The point was that Harry needed a house elf or two to start bringing the house back to life, and Kreacher was unsuitable on many levels, not the least of which was that he was old and more than half insane. But Kreacher was the only house elf he owned, even though he was at Hogwarts right now. But the bond would make him respond to his new master no matter where he happened to be. As Harry thought of all this, and of everything that Kreacher was and had done, a cold, calm anger overtook him. A plan quickly formed in Harry's mind.

"Kreacher!" he called out.

Only moments later the decrepit old house elf 'popped' into Harry's presence, mumbling and cursing under his breath about his inconsiderate, half-blood, worthless new master who wouldn't let him retire.

"Kreacher, I want you to find Dobby immediately and tell him that I have asked to speak to him. Wait for him. When he comes, come back with him," Harry ordered.

Still mumbling and cursing quietly, but not quite quietly enough, the house elf gave a quick, jerky bow, and popped out. Five minutes later Dobby popped in, with Kreacher in tow. Dobby was furious with the other house elf.

"You is not to be talking about Harry Potter that way!" Dobby scolded him – not that it stopped the old elf.

"Hello, Dobby," Harry cut in before the quarrel could go on, "I'm happy you could spare some time for me."

"Harry Potter freed Dobby from bad Master! Of course I is coming!" Dobby said proudly, with a scornful glance at the other elf.

"I need a favour and some information, Dobby," Harry told him. "Firstly, Kreacher would like to retire and join his family on the wall. Their heads have been removed from the Great Hall, but I would like to grant Kreacher's request to retire, anyway. How would I go about that?"

"The great Harry Potter be giving Kreacher too much honour!" Dobby replied, but the anger and disdain in his voice was directed at the old house elf who, for once, was keenly watching the proceedings silently. Harry couldn't quite tell what emotion he was seeing on Kreacher's face. It seemed to be a mixture of fear and . . . something else. Hope?

"That might be, Dobby, but I can't free him; he knows too many secrets."

The expression on Dobby's face cleared up as he caught on. "Only a master, a member of the master's family, or the master's house elves, if ordered, can 'retire' a useless house elf, Harry Potter, sir," he said.

Which meant, Harry thought, that if he intended to carry this out, that he would become a murderer far sooner than he'd expected. Not that the Wizarding world would see it that way. House elves weren't that important. But Harry had no family and no other house elves. There were people who would gladly do it for him, but he'd feel the coward if he farmed out this task.

He didn't want to be responsible for even this creature's death, but the house elf's loyalties lay only with his old masters, Orion and Walburga Black: Sirius' deceased parents. If the opportunity arose, he would betray them again. He was also insane, disobedient, lazy... All in all, only a liability. Add to that, Kreacher _wanted_ to die.

Having talked himself into the idea that it was both a necessity and a kindness, Harry spoke. "Kreacher, you have my permission to join your ancestors in the fastest, most painless, least messy way possible. Now," Harry ordered.

The treacherous old house elf glared at Harry, angry to be obeying the order of someone he considered so inferior to his 'real' masters even if it led to his dearest wish, then popped out. A few seconds later he was back with a large butcher's knife from the kitchen. He set it whirling rapidly in mid-air with his magic, and then proudly, head high, walked into it, beheading himself. There was, surprisingly, very little blood. The knife dropped to the floor.

Harry felt a little nauseous, but he fought it down, reminding himself of all the trouble and damage Kreacher had caused, took his 'spare' wand (which he was rapidly beginning to prefer, despite needing to practise power levels), and cast 'Evanesco' on the old house elf's head, body, and the knife, then cast a carefully powered 'Scourgify' on the few blood stains.

Harry then began to shake in delayed shock. He had engineered it, but seeing another being take its own life like that . . . even if it was only justice. But Kreacher had supplied the information to the Malfoys that had forged another link in the chain leading to his master's – Sirius' – death, and almost led to others' deaths as well.

After taking a couple of minutes to recover, Harry thought he could again trust his voice. "Thank you, Dobby," he said, not looking at the house elf. He wasn't sure how the minute being had taken the sight of one of his kind being ordered to commit suicide.

"You was being too kind to that one, Harry Potter, sir," came Dobby's quiet voice. "That one deserved a less honourable retirement. Fed to dogs, maybe."

"_Dobby,_" Harry exclaimed weakly, "what do you have against dogs?"

Dobby stared at Harry in confusion for a minute, then understanding dawned, and he giggled.

Harry was relieved that Dobby had taken it so well, although he couldn't understand why. But then he didn't think he'd ever understand how their species thought. There was still the second matter he'd wanted Dobby there for, however.

"I need a couple of house elves to help me get this house in order, Dobby," Harry said. "I understand that you probably want to keep your freedom, but do you know of some that are in need of a position?" Harry knew that house elves bonded to a family, but there was only him, and he didn't think referring to himself as a family was quite right.

Dobby's ears drooped, and he looked the picture of misery. "Harry Potter doesn't want Dobby?" the house elf asked pitifully.

Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I thought you liked being free?" he asked.

"Dobby is liking being free," Dobby confirmed, but there was a hesitant note in his voice that said there was more.

Harry thought he understood. "Would you like to work for me instead of for Hogwarts?" he asked.

The change in Dobby's attitude was remarkable. His ears perked up, his eyes brightened, and his demeanour gave the impression of bouncing off the walls whilst he yet stood in one spot. "Dobby would even work for Mister Harry without pay or day off!" he enthused.

"No, no, Dobby," Harry said mock-sternly. "That won't do at all! I insist you take the same rate of pay, plus two sickles. After all, at Hogwarts you were only one of hundreds of house elves. Here you will have less help, and possibly more work. There may even be times that I will need you on your day off. It's only right to pay for more work."

Dobby was reluctant to accept more pay – he _liked_ to work, and what would he spend it on, after all? But eventually he did accept an extra nine knuts alongside the galleon per week Dumbledore had been paying him, but only because Harry said he wouldn't hire him if he didn't accept a pay raise.

But Harry didn't want Dobby working alone. He had a feeling that so many years on his own had been at least part of what had gone wrong with Kreacher.

"Do you know—" Harry started to ask, when Draco barged in.

"Harry, you really _must_ call off that . . . **werewolf** downstairs," Draco complained. "He won't stop badgering me!" He would have hexed the creature, but one just did _not_ abuse one's host's other guests in that manner. It was up to the host to deal with his or her guests, if need be.

Dobby cringed at the sight of one of his old masters, and then stood up defiantly, ready to defend his new employer if necessary.

Catching sight of the house elf, Draco paused momentarily, then dismissed it from his mind. Yes, it looked slightly familiar, but house elves were fairly well interchangeable – far too unimportant to worry over.

"He's probably just worried about why you're with me," Harry said reassuringly.

Draco cocked his head. "Why _am_ I with you?" he demanded perplexedly.

Harry widened his eyes a bit as he shrugged. "Buggered if I know. Because you haven't anywhere else to go, and I'm someone safe you can be with?" There was also the triple vow, but Harry didn't want to bring up the bond; it would only cause the blond to become sullen. Besides which, he wasn't sure how much of an effect it had.

Draco raised a doubtful eyebrow. "Safe?" he said sarcastically, briefly rubbing his bum to drive home his point.

"The last time was mutually agreed upon, as I recall," Harry said dangerously. "Besides which, you know perfectly well what I meant."

Draco flipped a hand dismissively, but shrugged in agreement before reverting to the previous subject. "As I was saying, though; you simply must call off that mutt!"

"A werewolf I may be, Mister Malfoy, but a mutt I am not!" came Remus' voice from the doorway behind Draco.

"Remus!" Harry hastily greeted the man, before Draco could say something pithy. "How can I help you?"

Glaring at Draco, Remus answered the question. "You may answer the questions your . . . friend refused to answer."

Harry glanced at Draco, his eyebrows tightening briefly in a small frown. "And what questions might those be?" he asked, his voice tight.

Remus was surprised by the defensiveness in Harry's tone, but forged ahead. "How do you know young Mister Malfoy is telling you the truth about refusing the Dark Mark, to begin with?" he said accusingly.

"He doesn't have it," Harry stated flatly, refraining from saying that he'd seen all of Draco's delectable body in its immodest entirety.

Remus waved that off. "He could have been set a task to prove himself worthy," he accused.

Harry smiled grimly. "If that's the case, then dear old Tom will have been sorely disappointed." He ignored the sound of protest from Draco. "But why is this of interest to you?"

The werewolf looked at Harry in surprise. "You're James' son! Of _course_—"

"Why take an interest now," Harry interrupted, "when you didn't in all the years I was with the Dursleys – when I _couldn't_ take care of myself? Which, may I remind you, I am perfectly capable of doing now."

"Dumbledore said we shouldn't; that you'd be better off if we didn't try to see you."

"Ah, yes. Dumbledore. And you never thought to question why, did you?"

"He said it was for your safety!"

"From _what_, Remus?" Harry asked peevishly. "Voldemort was dead, or as good as, his followers would have broken up and gone back to their everyday lives when he was no longer around to lead and protect them... So what was I being protected from? **I** think I was being protected from a normal childhood!"

Draco's eyes widened at the possible implications of that remark.

"Why would he do that?" Remus asked weakly as he thought of the argument Harry was putting forth, not looking at the young man. If he had, he would have seen what Draco and Dobby saw; Harry's eyes had gone golden again.

"I have a guess, but let me ask you a few questions to verify them, shall I?" Harry didn't wait for a reply, but launched his first question. "Your friendship with him aside, I've heard that my father was something of an arrogant hooligan, at least while he was in school. True?"

Remus reluctantly nodded. "But—"

Harry interrupted. "My mother: hot temper and very stubborn. Again; true?"

Remus nodded again. "But they were good—"

"I'm not saying they weren't basically good people," Harry said, interrupting again, although he had some doubts about how 'good' his father had been, loving father and good friend aside. "But given those basic traits, in what sort of environment would you put their offspring to minimise or control those traits?"

"Dumbledore isn't like that!" Remus protested.

"Then I'd appreciate a better explanation," Harry challenged.

Remus couldn't think of one, and the question would haunt him for months to come. He turned and left without a word.

_Stamp down inherited traits? Prevent a normal childhood?_ Draco put those together, and didn't like the picture it presented.

He would have been appalled with himself had he realised he was feeling defensive about _Potter_.

Harry told Dobby that he'd need to inform whoever needed to know at Hogwarts that he was leaving that job for another. He could stay overnight if he wished, in order to say farewells to those he wished to inform. "But if you wouldn't mind, Draco and I will need supper first. You might ask Mister Lupin if he'd care for anything, as well. And then breakfast tomorrow morning, if you would. And please think of who else you think might need a position here – preferably someone you can get along with. We can discuss it tomorrow."

"Yes, master," Dobby said, trembling, and popped out.

Harry stared, perplexed, at where the house elf had been standing. "What was that all about? He sounded scared! Of me!"

Draco was torn; maintain his image, or do what he wanted to do? Potter was a half-blood, by all accounts, but given what he was, he had to have had the genes reinforced on both sides for them to come out so strongly. And if Potter _wasn't_ a half-blood, but more, then he needn't worry so much about a pureblood being with someone beneath him. And their rivalry just didn't seem so important anymore. Draco walked over to his green-eyed companion, and hugged him.

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~o

1. 'Dormare' is a fictional word derived from 'dormatori', which means 'sleeping room'.

Many thanks to my betas, and my Brit-picker, Andrew.


	6. Chapter 6

**_No Light Without Shadows_**

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Six**

It wasn't that Harry disliked the hug, but the confrontation with Remus had upset him, and he truly didn't feel like being touched right at that moment. However, he also didn't think he could afford to rebuff Draco's overture, since it was the first sign the blond had given that he felt anything positive towards him, so he returned the hug.

"I didn't know, Harry," Draco said softly. Then he braced himself, and turned away from the Gryffindor. "I have something I should tell you," he said. He led a bemused Harry over to the bed and sat down on it, gesturing for Harry to join him.

Despite being frightened of Harry's possible reaction, Draco started to tell Harry about the Dæmentelen family and his heritage. He started by giving a bit of history and telling about his own bloodlines first.

Long before the Founders, folk with the power to do magic existed, although compared to the magic users of today, they were rather weak. But as with any source of power, there were those who exploited it towards selfish, self-serving ends, and wanted to increase that power. As a result, many experiments were undertaken, even unto using their own families to experiment upon. In those days families the size of the Weasleys' family or even larger were the norm, so the more ruthless figured that a few were expendable. They could always breed more.

Experiments were undertaken using rituals, potions, and when that wasn't enough for them, interbreeding with magical creatures, including faeries, elves, and Veela. Later yet, in a search for even greater power, rituals were undertaken to incorporate the powers of less palatable creatures, and even demons.1 There were more failures than successes with those last, due to witches and wizards overreaching themselves, which led to a thinning of the ranks of the ambitious – but there _were_ successes. One of Draco's own ancestors, he said, had succeeded with incorporating some of the powers and qualities of lesser demons, as well as a medium-to-upper level water demon; something of which they were rightfully proud.

"I assume you mean 'dark creatures' when you say 'unpalatable creatures'. I've seen ghosts, trolls, house elves and a lot of other creatures since coming here, but demons? Surely you don't expect me to believe those actually exist?" Harry interrupted with a moue of disbelief on his face.

"Yes, I do, Potter," Draco said impatiently.

"And they all have ranks, just like a little army," Harry said, with a faint sneer in his voice.

"It's part of your heritage, _Harry_, so do you want to know about this, or not?"

"Oh, go right ahead, Malfoy; this is very entertaining. Go ahead and tell me about these armies of ghoulies." Harry's disbelieving mockery was light, but it was galling.

"They're not armies, and they're not ghouls – they're demons. And when I said 'medium to upper level', I was referring to their strength – their innate magical power – not some sort of elitist ranking system. Now if you're quite through being so ignorantly childish?"

Harry gave a gracious wave of his hand, indicating the blond should continue.

Draco looked quite mutinous and almost decided to let Harry stew in his ignorance. He wasn't quite sure why, but he continued relating the history.

Demons were mostly ranked into groups, such as Water Demons, Earth Demons and Air Demons. But in those groups were sub-divisions. In the water demon category were mist demons, rain demons, river demons, snow demons, ice demons, and many more, as well as regular water demons who held sway over any body of fresh water. Salt water was the demesne of Sea Demons, but only the insane or suicidal tried to incorporate the energies of those into their bloodlines; they were too strong and capricious. Similar divisions could be found in the other categories of demon. And it was thought that there might be crossbreeds, such as Storm demons as well, although the possibility existed that several types of demon might collaborate in the creating of various types and intensities of storms.

Fire demons were a more vague lot, and more properly belonged to the category of Energy demons, having members who were steam demons, lava demons, and ash demons. They existed in tandem with other elements, rather than as a pure force. Even those who appeared to be pure fire were part Air demon.

As for Energy demons themselves, they actually held sway in all areas. Lightning demons were one form of those, as were the aforementioned Fire demons. The Dæmentelen family had successfully incorporated the energies of several of each type of those into their line over many generations – some quite strong ones towards the end of their reign, including at least one mid-rank, broad-spectrum Energy demon. And they _had _held sway over the wizards of England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales for a few hundred years, until they had just disappeared. It had been surmised that they had finally overreached themselves and tried for a demon too strong for them to handle.

Draco added his supposition that, even if that were the case, it appeared that at least some of the family had survived, but whether only through the distaff side, or also through those retaining the surname who had changed it to escape persecution – something which often happened with surviving members of a power group which had fallen – was anyone's guess. Draco stopped his exposition then, allowing Harry time to absorb the knowledge and its implications.

Harry's reaction was predictable, even if it didn't seem so at first.

"A nice bedtime tale," Harry remarked.

"It's not a fiction, Harry," Draco said, keeping his eyes on the floor. "We don't talk about it, but it's a widely known fact about the more powerful wizarding families. Even the Weasleys had one or two minor Fire demons incorporated into their bloodline, although it's mostly bred out now."

"So you're saying that you're part demon? That _I'm_ a demon?" Harry's growing anger could be heard in his voice now.

"No!" Draco exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "That's _not_ what I'm saying! I _knew_ you'd react this way! That's why I didn't say anything!"

Draco's back hit the wall almost gently, right beside an ornate, cut-glass, silver-backed mirror. He was getting very tired of being pushed up against walls when Harry got angry. His mind briefly played a scene of Harry pushing him up against a wall for very different reasons, but he quickly banished it.

"So what _are_ you saying, then?" Harry asked, his voice holding a hint of danger.

"Demons can be seen when they're summoned or when they will it, but they aren't material beings," Draco said through clenched teeth. "They were captured with magic, and through special rituals their powers and abilities were stripped from them and incorporated into the wizard, witch, or family group that was participating in the ritual – unless they failed." Draco hesitated, then added, "For you to be as strong as you are, you'd likely have to have inherited from both sides of your family."

"You're lying," Harry accused flatly, his face expressionless.

"Look in the mirror!" Draco demanded, jerking his head at it to point it out.

Unthinkingly, Harry did, and for the first time saw his golden eyes, and his hair almost floating away from his head. His hair he could dismiss as a side-effect of his wild magic, but not the eyes. Distracted by the sight, he paid little attention to Draco pushing away from him, and away from the wall. And he saw the gold withdraw into an almost invisible ring around his normally green eyes as his amazement grew and his anger waned.

Watching him, Draco bitterly asked, "Do you believe me now?"

Harry was confused. That there was _something_ strange going on was hard to deny, but . . . demons? His mother and father? "Are you talking incest?" he asked warily.

"What? Oh – your mother and father? No. Not likely, at any rate. Would you say what . . . you and I . . . did . . . was incest?"

Harry shook his head. "No. We're too distant, I think," he replied.

Draco nodded. "And didn't everyone think your mother was a . . . was Muggleborn?" he asked, barely avoiding saying 'a mudblood'.

Harry nodded.

"Then it's likely that the relationship was too far apart to matter with them, too," Draco concluded, forgetting for the moment that his theory was pure supposition.

"Then I'm not a half-blood?" Harry asked, trying to see in the mirror if he could actually spot signs of being . . . different.

Draco hesitated. "Potter, at this point, I don't think it matters."

Harry whipped his head around and gave Draco a sharp look. "Why?"

Draco gave an exasperated sigh. "Have you been listening to anything I said?" he asked pointedly.

"Of course!" Harry said defensively. "It all just seems so . . . bizarre."

"Welcome to reality, Potter," Draco said wryly. "Magic **does** rule our world, after all."

Harry gave a short, self-mocking laugh, and nodded. "You'd think I'd be used to it, after five years," he said.

Feeling the atmosphere had calmed down, Draco felt safe enough to sit down, and did. "Look . . . Potter . . . your eyes turning gold like that proclaim you of the family Daementelen. They proclaim your ownership of at least some of the Energy Demon powers, even if we don't know what they are at the moment. That alone gives you status equal to, or exceeding that of many purebloods."

"Did anyone ever undertake to teach you anything at all about our world, Harry?" the blond asked, although he thought he already knew the answer.

Harry laughed mirthlessly. "I was picked up out of the only life I'd ever known – not that I wasn't grateful for that – and dropped into this one to sink or swim as best I could. But even with all the shit I've gone through, it's still better than the Dursleys," Harry stated. His face defied Draco to ask anything further on that subject.

Draco decided to respect that boundary, but, "So would I be correct in saying that you know little to nothing of our customs and practices?"

Harry was uncomfortable with the direction in which the conversation was going. What was Draco driving at? He decided to ask.

"Why do you want to know?" Harry inquired, suspicion evident in his voice.

"Look, Harry, from what I picked up in your conversation with . . . Lupin, your home life was anything but a bed of roses: with or without thorns." Draco waited for a response from Harry, but when all he got was a stony look, he forged ahead. "So it appears I was fed a pack of lies. I – all of Slytherin, really – was told that you lived a life of luxury: that you were practically waited on hand and foot."

At that, Harry gave a disdainful snort. "Sounds like Snape," was his only comment.

With a reluctant nod, not mentioning that many of their parents reinforced those ideas, Draco continued speaking. "I . . . " Draco noticed that he was, and had been sounding rather like a nervous supplicant. He drew his dignity about him. "Your education of our world has been woefully neglected. I intend to rectify that situation," he said rather arrogantly.

"Oh, you do," Harry commented, somewhat amused. "Given our past, how am I supposed to trust that you'll not have me making an utter prat of myself?"

"I... Blast it, Harry! How am I to try to make amends if you won't give me the chance?"

Harry stared at the blond, flummoxed. "Is that what you want to do?" he asked in surprise.

"Whether you're aware of it or not, that damned vow you tricked me into giving – and which you conveniently sealed – means that we'll be around each other the rest of our lives. I'd rather not have you embarrassing me!"

"Now _that_ sounds... Wait a moment... The rest of our lives?"

Draco lowered his head into his hands and groaned. "**That** is why you need to be educated, Harry," he said.

Harry's anger with his own ignorance rose to the fore. "All right, but I want a book of etiquette and wizarding customs to check you against as well," he said. The rest of their _lives?_ Somebody had best have some very good answers for not teaching him all he needed to know to live in the Wizarding world.

"I don't know that one exists!" Draco protested. "It's all taught within the family!" he added hastily at Harry's look. "Or by a tutor... But if one exists, I agree."

Harry relaxed slightly, and smiled wryly at the blond. "You do realise you've been calling me 'Harry', don't you?" he asked.

"Didn't you tell that elf to bring us supper?" Draco suddenly asked, looking about the room as if he was expecting the elf to pop in right at that moment.

Draco's cheeks were slightly flushed, but Harry's stomach demanded that the obvious change of subject was a very important one. He frowned. "Yes, I did," he replied.

It turned out that Dobby had to 'borrow' and prepare the food at Hogwarts, which explained the delay.

That night both boys went to bed in their pyjamas, their backs turned to each other, and feeling decidedly awkward. Harry wanted to hold Draco again. Hold? Well, yes, while he pounded the blond into the mattress again. And hold him – and smell his hair – and stroke that pale, smooth skin, feeling his warmth... But the blond hadn't acted in the least interested. Thinking about it, Harry realised that Draco had initiated all three of their encounters, even if the first two hadn't gone the way the Slytherin had expected.

Draco was emotionally torn. On the one hand he'd have liked to be a little closer to Harry, but their last sexual encounters had been rather violent and he was a bit sore, despite the lubricating spell Harry had used each time. He really wasn't up to having sex again so soon – at least not as the bottom – but he remembered how good it had felt to have Harry hold him. His pride held him back from asking for that, however, and so both fell asleep feeling very dissatisfied.

They woke up in a tangle of legs, arms around each other, one of Harry's hands down the back of Draco's sleep wear, cupping one bare, pert butt cheek; one of Draco's hands cupping Harry's bollocks, the other arm wrapped around Harry's neck, and his own head nestled against Harry's shoulder, next his throat. Draco subtly move his erring hand to a more suitable position, but the only move of Harry's hand on Draco's arse was to more securely grip that portion of the blond's anatomy and pull him closer.

"It's a bit early in our relationship for you to be that possessive, isn't it?" Draco asked softly, realising that Harry was awake, too.

"And _your_ hand?" Harry asked.

"I was asleep. I moved it," Draco replied.

"So did I," Harry mildly replied. "Do you mind?"

"I should," Draco said. "I should be hexing your hands off, and other bits as well."

"So why aren't you?"

Draco was silent a long time before he asked, "You're not just using me, are you?"

It was Harry's turn to think – and it was too early in the morning. But he finally said, "I don't think so. Merlin knows why, but I seem to have a soft spot in my heart for you. And don't you dare say something like it matches the soft spot in my head!"

Draco surprised himself by giggling. He cut it short, embarrassed.

Harry pulled his head back a bit to look at him. "Did you just _giggle_?" he asked in amazement.

"Of course not. Malfoy's don't giggle. That was a chortle," the blond replied a bit haughtily, but he didn't move from his position. He was too comfortable, and he liked the feel of Harry's hand on his bum.

Harry pulled his hand outside Draco's pyjama bottoms and rested it on the blond's hip. "You did," he accused mildly. "You giggled!"

"Shut up, Harry," Draco cautioned. _'Aw, damnit,' _Draco groaned to himself. He was definitely awake now, and could no longer use sleep torpor as an excuse for his behaviour. He rolled away from Harry, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and went to start getting ready for the day. But his heart was a bit lighter, knowing Harry actually cared, at least a little.

Harry was feeling pretty good, too. If Draco was worried about how he felt about him, there was a better than even chance that the Slytherin was having some warm feelings of his own. But he remained in bed until the blond returned from the bathroom before letting his own feet hit the floor.

Dobby was there with a large breakfast that morning – both fried and scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, fried tomatoes and potatoes, toast, tea and coffee – along with a few suggestions for other house elves Harry might consider for his household. His first suggestion, Winky, Barty Crouch's old house elf, Harry rejected. That house elf _definitely_ needed a family to look after, not just a house with occasional occupants.

Dobby was more subdued than normal, but otherwise didn't seem to be under any undue stress, as he had last night.

Harry questioned Dobby about the house elf's other suggestions, helped by a few unexpected, but helpful questions from Draco.

Draco suggested that Harry talk to the two or three that sounded best to him, although he also mentioned that having so many to choose from was more than a bit unusual.

After breakfast, Harry decided to address Dobby about his apparent fear the night before.

"Dobby..."

"Yes, Master Harry?"

"When you left last night, you seemed frightened. Can you tell me about that?"

Dobby fiddled with his fingers for a bit before lifting wide eyes up to Harry's. "Master Harry is a demon master?" he asked.

Harry was perplexed. He didn't know how the house elf meant the words. He turned to Draco, who was still sipping on a cup of tea.

"What does he mean by that?" Harry asked the blond.

Draco didn't answer him directly, addressing the house elf instead. "Your new . . . employer is one of their descendents. He doesn't know the first thing about being a demon master."

Harry turned questioning eyes to the blond.

"Our ancestors weren't the nicest lot to ever exist," Draco started explaining with a sigh. "They were better than a lot of Death Eaters, but only because using their abilities on humans was usually restricted to duels and wars." Draco was silent for a few moments as he took another sip of his tea, and appeared to contemplate his cup. "They would sometimes drain their house elves if they needed a quick source of magic. The elves rarely survived the experience."

Harry turned horror-filled eyes on Dobby. "I would never do that to you, Dobby!" he exclaimed earnestly.

Draco said nothing, but he knew that if Harry knew how, and he needed to do so to save someone he loved, that those words might come back to haunt him. But that knowledge was no longer taught father to son and was only to be found in ancient tomes that none had seen in ages, so it was likely a moot point anyway.

Later that day the three of them – at Harry's insistence, since he had little practical experience with them – picked another house elf for the house, named Skiph, from among the hopefuls. Dobby walked Harry through the binding process, Draco having never had occasion to need the knowledge. And Dobby wasn't half full of himself afterward, either.

Harry set Skiph to cleaning the house, starting with the kitchen, and took Dobby to Gringotts to register both him and Skiph, as well as report Kreacher's 'retirement', and to get Dobby signed onto a small vault to buy whatever was needed for the household, using a limited account. Withdrawals over thirty Galleons a week2 would need Harry's signature, but otherwise Dobby would be on his honour. Knowing Dobby, Harry had a few reservations; a bound house elf would have had less freedom with what the money was spent on. Despite that, Harry decided to trust the rather eccentric house elf.

Knowing that cleaning supplies, paint, varnish, wallpaper, and other such materials would be in heavy demand while the two house elves repaired Black Mansion, Harry made special arrangements for such supplies to be paid for automatically for the next three months, over and above the thirty Galleons a week food and maintenance funds. Receipts would be sent to him weekly.

But Harry made sure that Dobby understood that aside from he and Draco, only Remus – and Tonks, if she showed up (she was family, after all) – was to be fed from those funds, with the exception of minor courtesy refreshments such as tea and biscuits, unless he got permission from Harry, first. Come to that, while Remus himself was to be granted everyday services such as food, laundry, and room upkeep, any order from him regarding granting services to others was to be ignored.

He thought of the Weasleys, but didn't think it likely that they would show up without at least letting him know beforehand, and as he recalled, they usually brought their own food anyway. Molly was well aware of the size of her brood and was chary of imposing on her hosts that much, so she always brought far more than was needed to feed her own family.

The last few days before September first went very smoothly, Remus keeping mostly to himself after his confrontation with Harry. The house elves were kept busy cleaning, repairing, and serving regular meals (Dobby had become a rather good cook while at Hogwarts), and Harry and Draco kept themselves busy with studying the year's textbooks. Draco also started to teach Harry what he needed to know about the social niceties of living in a magical society – more specifically, the upper strata of that society.

Harry even found a few minutes each day to interact with Hedwig. He felt rather guilty that he wasn't spending more time with her, but she seemed to be keeping herself busy too, if the gifts of dead mice she kept trying to give him were any indication. Harry had grown almost another inch in the intervening days, and as a result he was eating three large meals a day plus a couple of good-sized snacks, but he wasn't quite _that_ hungry.

Harry and Draco had put aside enough of their differences that they now counted each other as friends, although the sexual tension between them kept them too self-conscious to get really close. It seemed rather contradictory, but now that they were developing more respect for each other, they felt less inclined to pursue their lusts for each other. Still, they were teenagers who _had_ experienced sex with each other, so a little mutual wanking 'just to relieve the tensions' didn't seem to be too out of order. Neither mentioned the small kisses to neck, collarbones, or cheeks, or thought to inform the other that even those small caresses were breaking down barriers and building emotional bridges.

It wasn't until they were walking onto Platform 9 ¾ that it occurred to Harry to ask, "What now?"

Draco glanced sidewise at his companion. "What are you on about?" he asked.

Harry nodded ahead, to a group of Slytherins. "Your friends," he said neutrally. He wasn't afraid of them, but he was very apprehensive about how Draco would react to their presence. Would his ex-rival try to revert to his old behaviour? Seek safety in old habits?

Harry had thought 'try' advisedly, because if he could prevent it, that wouldn't happen.

Draco's quick mind took Harry's meaning. Having their own little world for the past few days, he'd allowed all thoughts of the rest of the world to fade. He needed to sort his priorities, and quickly. Actually, no. He needed to figure out how to _handle_ his priorities. At long last he'd achieved his childhood goal of becoming Harry's friend, and he couldn't give that up. Not to mention that little matter of the bond between them. And the sex. And the possibility of something more. It was too late to come up with a plan, though. His friends had spotted them.

Amazingly, there was almost five minutes of cooing over Draco's 'delicious' new friend – by Pansy and Blaise, at least – before they figured out who Harry was. Flabbergasted by their lack of perception, Harry had gone along with it, keeping alert for possible trouble the whole time, but flirting and joking with the more friendly members of the group while trying to keep Draco's feathers smoothed over; mostly by wrapping an arm around the blond and petting him, letting him know he wasn't being ignored. (Draco wasn't best pleased anyway, with either the flirting or Harry's public behaviour with him. On the other hand, if it kept the vultures at bay...) So when the small group of Slytherins finally figured out who Harry was, their angry, suspicious reactions were mitigated by their curiosity and reluctant admiration for his gall.

At about five foot nine inches, Harry's height matched Draco's slender form, and his chest and shoulder breadth had widened a bit. He was still skinny, but but not so much of a pencil shape as he'd been. That, along with his leaner face, longer hair and lack of glasses, had made just enough changes in his appearance to confuse them for awhile. They'd become suspicious a bit earlier, but it was an errant breeze briefly uncovering his scar that had been the final betrayer of Harry's identity.

Harry wound up sitting with Draco, Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Millicent the entire ride to Hogwarts. It can't be said that the Slytherins welcomed him with open arms now that they knew his identity, but by the time the train stopped a truce had been declared between him and them: the rest of Gryffindor House not included. Draco's influence and apparent relationship with Harry had been a factor in his grudging acceptance by them, but even that would have weighed little in the equation if they had found Harry lacking. As it was, they were quite mystified how they could have so misread him for so many years. It was a blow to their egos, actually. They prided themselves on being able to accurately judge the characters of others within a relatively short span of time.

Harry didn't see Ron and Hermione until he entered the Great Hall. Saying his goodbyes to the Slytherins, and giving Draco's hand a quick squeeze in farewell, he made his way to his usual place at the table.

Ron had been in deep conversation with Dean Thomas, so it was Hermione who had spotted Harry when he came in with the Slytherins, but even she took several long moments before recognising him.

"Harry?" she asked doubtfully.

Ron swung his head around when he heard her, searching eagerly for his friend, but didn't see him. Hermione staring at the dark-haired stranger clued him in. Ron's eyes goggled and his mouth dropped open. "Harry?" he asked in amazement. "Harry! We missed you on the train, mate! Looked almost everywhere!"

Harry rather doubted that, judging by the hands Ron and Hermione were surreptitiously reclaiming from each other. Harry just grunted at them. Draco wouldn't have approved of the absence of civilized behaviour, but Harry couldn't be arsed to do any better right then.

"How was your summer, Harry?" Hermione asked softly.

Harry frowned absently. "Why do you ask?"

Hermione frowned at his reply, but before she could answer, Harry was talking again.

"Funny thing about this summer, actually; a total dearth of owls. Rather peaceful, really," Harry said nonchalantly. "I would have thought my mates would have owled me, but I suppose that was too much to ask. Must have had better things to do."

Hermione was looking totally affronted, and Ron's face was turning red.

"Dumbledore told us to leave you alone; that you needed time to grieve!" the redhead exclaimed.

"Oh, yes. I see," Harry said flippantly. "Of course he'd have to be right, wouldn't he? He knows me so much better than you do. Spent almost every free minute with him the past five years, haven't I?"

"He's the leader of the Light side!" Hermione hissed at him.

Harry's voice took on a slightly sarcastic note, although he still kept it light and breezy. "Oh, and that makes it ever so much better then, doesn't it? Gives him every right to interfere in other people's lives."

With no defense to mind, Ron instinctively attacked. "You're sounding like a bloody Slytherin!" he accused.

"He walked in with them!" Hermione informed the redhead thoughtlessly. She kept her observance of Harry's interaction with Malfoy to herself, however.

"The Slytherins?" Ron asked in disbelief.

Hermione nodded.

"Quiet!" Harry ordered. "They're bringing in the First Years." Ron's words had re-lit the seething resentment he had earlier in the summer, and had added to it. The prat hadn't even the grace to apologise for not writing all summer? Nor Hermione, for that matter!

And, of course, Ron just couldn't leave it alone. About halfway through the sorting, he started in again. His hissed whispering could be heard several seats away. "So if you're so ruddy friendly with the Slytherins, whyn't you go live with _them_, then? You're sounding more like one of them, anyway. Bet you wish you _were_ one, don't you?"

Hermione was trying to hush him and reassure Harry that Ron didn't really mean it, and she was greatly regretting her hastily spoken words. But Ron had his temper up, and he wasn't about to stop until he'd talked his guilty anger out.

Harry sat through two more minutes of his 'best mate's' accusations and ranting, trying his best to contain his anger.

From across the hall at the Slytherin table, Draco had seen Harry's eyes change colour, and he was wondering why none of Harry's friends had seen it yet. With all the almost-subtle whispering and head pointing from the Slytherins towards the Gryffindor table, and Harry, it was a sure bet that most of Slytherin House was now aware of Harry's status, despite that fact not having come out in their talk on the train.

Finally, Harry exploded. "Fine!" he said loudly, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. "You really want to know what House I belong in, Ron? Let's find out!"

With that he got up from the table and stalked towards the Sorting Hat, ignoring orders from the Head Table to sit down, ignoring the points taken, the detentions given, intent on his goal. When he got there, he snatched the Hat from the small girl who'd been about to put it on before his outburst, and had then frozen in fear at the sight of the – to her – large, angry boy with weird eyes coming right at her.

"Just what do you think you're doing, Mister Potter?" an outraged Minerva McGonagall demanded.

Harry glared at her. "Correcting a very old mistake," he growled, jamming the Sorting Hat down on his head. Unlike the first time, the hat fit him very well.

"Some people here would like to know what my true House is," Harry announced both to the Hat and the Hall. "Tell them, Hat."

"Stop this nonsense at once!" the headmaster's voice demanded. He, unfortunately, had a very good idea of what Harry was doing and what the result would be. "You can only be sorted once!"

_'So you've finally come to your senses?'_ the Hat said in Harry's head. _'I see that your time in Griffindor has had an effect, but you're still...' _It wasted no more time, yelling out what it had known to be the truth five years ago.

"SLYTHERIN!"

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~o

1. Known to the rest of us as elementals.  
>2. Approximately $240 US dollars.<p>

**A/N:** Harry is **not** part demon. The 'demon' is merely the ability to control the elements which was wrested from elementals (known to the people of the time as demons) and instilled in their family lines. No 'demon' genetics involved. Think of it as absorbing a talent while leaving everything else behind.


	7. Chapter 7

**_No Light Without Shadows_**

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Seven**

The room was silent as Harry walked back over to the Gryffindor table. Planting his fists on the table, he leant over at Ron. "How much fun is that, Ronald?" he sneered. "You've been best mates with a Slytherin for five years! So either you're a bigger pillock than I ever imagined you were, or Slytherins aren't so bad as you paint them."

"Mister Potter," came the tensely calm tones of the headmaster, "if you are quite through disturbing the proceedings? Please sit with your House, would you? And I would like to speak to you after the Feast."

Harry nodded his acknowledgement to the old man, then turned and made his way to the Slytherin table.

Professor Dumbledore wanted nothing more than to tell Harry to sit back to his proper table, but that was an argument he did not wish to have in front of the whole school. Nor, since the incident happened in front of the entire student body, did he think it an argument he could win. The Sorting Hat had deemed Harry to be a Slytherin, and the hat was the final and only authority on who got sorted where. To override it would be to invite an undermining of the whole system, and he couldn't have that. It was a tradition that was centuries old. He dearly hoped that Harry hadn't created a precedent that would be popularly followed. He could imagine the headaches that would cause, not to mention having to rewrite all the records.

The Slytherins watched Harry approach with various reactions, all tinged with bemusement. No matter their personal feelings at the moment though, they could do nothing with the whole school looking on. And the Sorting Hat _had_ placed him with them. Some of the sixth year Slytherins, on the other hand, weren't taken nearly so much by surprise, having had a chance to see behind the façade on the ride to Hogwarts.

As Harry approached the sixth years' portion of the table, Crabbe shoved over, making everyone else on the bench budge over a space, and leaving a spot open next to Draco. Harry sat next to the blond without a word.

"This makes sense," Draco said in a low voice. "Which leaves us with the question: how did a Slytherin wind up in a house which is practically the antithesis of everything for which we stand?1"

"I didn't want Slytherin then; I didn't fight it this time," Harry replied with a small shrug.

Harry's answer left those within hearing distance gobsmacked. No wonder the bloody Boy Who Lived had been able to give them so much trouble: he had been one of their own all along! The realisation left many with the mixed reaction of resentment for having been rejected, and admiration that he'd fooled so many, hiding his true nature all this time. Not to mention he'd somehow overruled the Sorting Hat. How brilliant was _that_?

Harry looked across the hall to the Gryffindor table to see the reactions of those seated there. Most of them looked betrayed, or as though they had been told their parents had died. Hermione was crying and hitting Ron anywhere she could reach, punching and slapping him repeatedly. Ron, whose expression was unreadable, was making very little effort to defend himself.

In Ron's mind the shocked mantra that he had driven away his best friend – driven him over to the enemy – was running repeatedly.

Neville sent Harry a small smile of encouragement and support, and Seamus gave him a rather wry smile as well. Ginny was looking quite furious, but her gaze was fixed on her brother. Harry didn't think he'd want to be anywhere near where _that_ little confrontation took place – not that it was likely he would be, now.

Harry smiled a rather sad smile at all of them, then fixed his gaze on the table in front of him. Actually he wasn't quite sure _what_ to feel. There was a certain sense of loss, to be sure, but he also felt as though rather restrictive bonds had been loosed. Now he should have more freedom to be just himself, instead of the bloody 'Boy Who Lived'. Gods, but he'd hated having to try to live up to that title, even a little. Of course this move to Slytherin also meant he should have an easier time exploring his relationship with Draco, but the down side was that he was now also more accessible to the children and sympathisers of Death Eaters.

And if Harry's golden eyes hadn't been noticed, and then his signet rings, although only one of them truly mattered, his worries on that last point would have been far more valid. As it was, though he didn't know it yet, many of the older families in Slytherin had been subordinate to House Dæmentelen. That didn't mean that they would now fall in behind Harry's banner (at least not without word from their present family Heads), those loyalties being centuries past, but it did mean they would give him far more leeway than he would otherwise have had. Those who had no idea – mostly the younger years – would be informed, the elder among them having been well schooled in their family histories.

Harry had eaten, but he wasn't entirely sure what had been on his plate. As time had gone on, he had thought more and more of what he was going to have to deal with. Not only Slytherin and Gryffindor Houses and Dumbledore, but also Professors McGonagall and Snape. Thank the gods he didn't have to worry about a disappointed Gryffindor Quidditch team! Umbridge had seen to that last year . . . unless Dumbledore had managed, somehow, to lift that lifetime ban against him playing Quidditch.

Harry groaned.

Draco, who had watched Harry's distracted state and guessed why, inquired, "What now, Potter?" a bit impatiently.

"Quidditch," Harry replied.

"That's right; you were banned last year," Draco said with a pleased smirk. Then he frowned. That had been a good thing whilst Harry was playing for Gryffindor, but if he was in Slytherin now... "Dumbledore will have had that decision reversed, won't he?" Draco mused aloud. He certainly hoped so. It would certainly be in the old man's style, where Potter was concerned.

"I'm a bit afraid he might have done," Harry confessed.

"What?" Draco exclaimed in affronted surprise.

"There are going to be hard enough feelings with the Gryffindors now that I've changed houses; I'd hate to imagine what they'd be like if I were playing against them, too," Harry explained.

"Who bloody well cares?" Draco exclaimed. "We most certainly cannot have a talent like yours just gathering dust!"

"But all I know is the Seeker position, and that's yours!" Harry argued.

"I'll...!" Draco paused, torn. He truly loved flying and competing, but he knew that the year's House Cup would be in the bag if Harry was playing Seeker. Maybe he could try out for Chaser? It was a poor second to the excitement and freedom he felt while chasing the snitch, but he'd still be playing if he made the cut. Then again, he still didn't know if Harry was eligible to play, so he could be stressing over nothing.

"I have to go," Harry said, having seen Dumbledore leaving the Head Table. "Dumbledore's about to read me the riot act."

"Bugger 'im," Crabbe remarked.

"No thanks," Harry replied with a faint smirk as he arose from the bench, "he's not my type."

"Just blonds, eh?" was the faint rejoinder.

Surprised, Harry laughed. Even as embarrassed as he was by the remark, he felt much better as he walked away, and smirked as he heard Draco start to verbally lay into his henchman.

When Harry entered the Headmaster's office, he didn't wait for an invitation to be seated. It was rude, but he knew that if he let Dumbledore take control of the situation that he'd have a harder time of it. From being there several times before, he knew which chair was the most comfortable and sat in it, draping his hands over the ends of the chair arms: a move that, while not so subtle, didn't quite shove his signet rings in the old man's face. That done, however, he sat back and waited for the headmaster to address him.

The old man sat there regarding Harry for quite some time: a move designed to make Harry nervous – put him on the defensive. All it did was make Harry angry, since he recognised the ploy. But he hid his ire and continued to wait. Finally, Dumbledore spoke.

"We do not resort pupils here, Harry," Albus said in sad, disappointed tones. "What made you think you had the right to do what you did tonight?"

"A bit of a moot point now, sir, isn't it?" Harry replied, avoiding the question.

"I do seem to rather be up against a wall," the old man commented sternly. "Was it your intention to so publicly renounce everything you stand for?"

Harry frowned at the old man. He very much resented the implication that he was nothing more than an icon. "What I did, I did because I got totally pissed off—"

"Language, Mister Potter," Dumbledore interjected.

"—with Ron's ranting," Harry continued without pause.

"He and Hermione didn't write this summer – your doing, I believe?" Harry put in with a resentful glare, "– and I called them out about it. Ron started on at me about being like a Slytherin. Well, why the... Why not? _You_ know I was supposed to be in Slytherin," Harry said almost accusingly.

Dumbledore just regarded Harry patiently.

"Ron's always painted them all like the blackest of blackguards; as though they were all already Marked Death Eaters: I just got tired of his bigotry, and accusing me of wanting to be a Slytherin – almost accusing me of being as bad as he thinks _they_ are – and I snapped."

"I must say," Harry added with cautious suspicion, "that your own actions in the past seem rather . . . apathetic towards Slytherins and their House."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Indeed?" he inquired.

Harry nodded. "My first year... All those points you awarded at the Leaving Feast?" he said questioningly.

"What of them, my dear boy?"

"Rather a lot of them, weren't there?" Harry asked.

"Do you think them unearned?" Dumbledore inquired.

"I think, sir, that you didn't balance them off with everything else," Harry observed cautiously. "Curfew broken, as well as several other rules?"

"Just what _I_ argued, Mister Potter," Snape's disagreeable voice said off to Harry's left side.

Harry whipped his head around. Professors Snape and McGonagall were just inside the doorway, the Deputy Headmistress holding the Sorting Hat.

"All water under the bridge now," Dumbledore said soothingly.

Harry turned back around. "Perhaps, sir, but the manner in which you did it was rather underhanded, and you certainly put the cat amongst the canaries with that manoeuvre. Almost made certain I wouldn't be welcome amongst them."

There was a momentary, uncomfortable silence as Harry's unspoken accusation hung between them.

"If you two are quite through with your idiotic idioms?" Snape said impatiently.

"Yes. What _are_ we to do about this situation?" Minerva inquired of the headmaster. "We can't just have pupils being resorted as they will, can we? How in the world could this happen?" she demanded. "The Sorting Hat—"

"Knew what it was doing the first time," the Hat put in, interrupting. "Stubborn fellow wouldn't go, though, would he?"

"Whatever do you mean by that?" she demanded fiercely of the hat.

"It really doesn't matter," the headmaster said. "Harry was—"

"What it means is that I refused to be put in Slytherin, my first year," Harry revealed, rather sheepishly.

The headmaster sighed. _'So much for trying to keep things on the quiet,'_ he thought.

"You what? You... You what?" Professor McGonagall sputtered incoherently, which Harry found a bit amusing, although he wasn't anxious to see what her reaction would be once she recovered herself.

Snape was looking at Harry with undisguised disgust, along with a certain amount of disbelief.

_'Nothing new there,'_ Harry resignedly thought to himself.

"Well, I'd been told all these horrid things about Slytherin, and how Voldemort came from there..." Harry said lamely to his former (?) Head of House.

"You were better off in Gryffindor," Albus said sagely.

"Oh, _do_ put a sock in it, sir," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"Mister **Potter!**" Minerva exclaimed reprimandingly at Harry's rudeness.

Harry sat back sullenly, but said, "I never fit in, there."

"Were you unhappy in my House?" Minerva asked frostily.

His fond respect for the elderly woman caused Harry to approach his response to her question in a different manner than he might otherwise have done. The full truth was that most of the time he'd felt like a stranger in a strange land, there, despite the friends he'd made.

"Not always," he replied. "Had some great fun from time to time really, but—"

"I can imagine," Snape muttered nastily.

"_But_," Harry deliberately repeated, "I always felt a bit of a fake. I always had to **be** somebody for them, rather than being allowed to be myself."

"Examples?" Minerva demanded.

"I'm a Parselmouth," Harry stated baldly. "Until they forgot that, they looked at me as though I was the Dark Lord himself. And anytime anything went wrong, I was the first they became suspicious of, even if I'd nothing to do with it."

"You know it's true, Professor," Harry said earnestly, looking directly into her eyes.

McGonagall sadly nodded. She was aware of what went on in her House, even if she didn't always like to acknowledge it.

"And you think you could do better in _my_ House, Potter?" Snape sneered.

"I would have, sir . . . I think," Harry replied, trying to keep his automatic response to the man under control. "Now? I'm not so sure."

"They'd eat you alive, Potter. You're too weak to be a Slytherin," was the greasy man's response.

Harry's face tinted in anger, and his eyes changed colour. "With you biting at my heels all the time, sir, I'm sure it would be _quite_ difficult," Harry retorted.

Snape's face suffused with rage at the insult. "You insolent . . . **brat!**" he spat out. "Twenty points from . . . Albus! Tell me this . . . **Potter** . . . is _not_ going to be in my House!"

Dumbledore had reluctantly chuckled at Harry's words. Now, eyes twinkling, he said, "You must admit that was quite the Slytherin rejoinder."

Snape, powerless to deny it, span on his heels to again confront Harry. "Take that charm off your eyes, Potter. We're not first years to be impressed with colour changing charms!"

Dumbledore again intervened. "I think you'll find that it's not a colour changing charm, Severus."

Snape grabbed his wand, and then Harry's arm, intending to cast a 'Finite' to prove his claim, and quickly released the arm again, as though he'd been stung.

"What the bloody hell!" he exclaimed.

"Severus, please!" Albus said, objecting to the man's language. "But if you'll look at the signet ring on young Potter's left hand?" he suggested.

"He shocked me!" Severus accused angrily, with a puzzled glare. There were spells that could shock people, but not from just touching a person, that he knew of. He couldn't accuse the boy of attacking him without knowing what caused it, however. If he was wrong, he'd come out looking the fool.

"Look at the ring, Severus," Dumbledore said again. "I think that will answer both your questions."

Harry was looking from one man to the other, feeling a bit beleaguered. Professor McGonagall was looking quite lost. Harry, feeling angry and resentful, but hoping it might help, held up his left hand so the potions master could see the ring.

Snape looked at the ring, then an expression of surprise crossed his face. "Dæmentelen?" he asked Dumbledore, seeking confirmation. Upon receiving it in the form of the old man's very slight nod, he began to very closely examine the signet. He sat heavily in the nearest chair when he could find no sign of forgery.

"Will there be any more trouble about Mister Potter's placement?" Dumbledore asked softly. He was unhappy about it himself, but since there was nothing for it, he was dealing with the reality.

Snape shook his head. He was scowling in deep thought, but he also looked a bit stunned.

Addressing Harry, the headmaster said, "We shall have to move you into the Slytherin dungeons, but until we can guarantee your safety, I don't believe we should move you into the dorms proper."

"Don't you agree, Severus?" he asked the man.

"Why ask me?" the Slytherin Head asked with a faint bitterness. "You'll only have your own way, anyway."

"There's no need to be like that, my boy," the headmaster said chidingly, before he returned to the subject at hand.

"I think a separate room, but abutting the Slytherin dorms should do the trick," the old man continued, as though nothing had been said. "Perhaps right next the male prefect's room. There's an abandoned storage room we can convert there, if I recall aright."

Harry looked at the headmaster. A storage room. Wonderful. Shades of cupboards under the stairs, anyone?

"You needn't look at me like that, my boy," Dumbledore told Harry reprovingly. "It _will_ be renovated. We could even have the castle add a toilet and a bath, while we're about it."

"It can do that?" Harry asked in shocked surprise.

"Oh, yes. Hogwarts can do quite a lot that would surprise people," the headmaster replied, his eyes shining with glee to have surprised the boy.

"How long will it take?" Harry asked. He wasn't about to feed the headmaster's penchant for secrets and mysteries by asking for explanations. All he'd likely get in return would be mysterious looks and vague words.

Dumbledore waved the question off. "Oh, a day or two at most, I'm sure," he said reassuringly.

"And where am I to sleep until then?"

The headmaster looked thoughtfully at his Slytherin Head of House. "Professor Snape?" he suggested.

The potions master was outraged. "No! Absolutely not! I will teach your sniveling brats, but I will _not_ have them sleeping in the same rooms as I inhabit!"

_'Well, at least I'm not being singled out this time,'_ Harry thought, still feeling a bit offended – not that _he'd_ have accepted such an arrangement. The man would likely have dissolved him with one of his potions whilst he slept.

"Then I suppose I shall have to impose upon one of our Slytherin prefects. The male one, of course," Albus said almost absently, his eyes twinkling merrily.

"And who might that be?" Harry asked with a sense of foreboding.

"Draco Malfoy," Albus replied, the twinkle strong in his eyes, now. While he might not like the idea of Harry being resorted into Slytherin, he did find it rather amusing that the two bitter rivals had patched things up so far as to be holding hands when they entered the Great Hall. Harry's sexual orientation had never been a subject of his thoughts, but Albus liked that he could be surprised once in a while.

Harry heaved a sigh of relief, but wondered why Draco hadn't rubbed the fact of his being a prefect this year in his face.

Snape frowned. "You don't seem disturbed by that," he observed.

"Draco and I . . . came to an understanding a few days ago," Harry said uneasily.

Minerva moved a bit shakily to a chair and sat down. That had been the last straw. Having her favourite pupil sort himself into another house – and Slytherin at that! – had been a hard blow, but she'd weathered it all right. Her faith in the headmaster had been tested, and while there were questions she needed to explore the answers to, she had come out the other side with it still intact. The implications of Harry being the heir of House Dæmentelen were staggering, but she'd remained strong. This latest revelation was a relatively insignificant thing, but it was one thing too many.

"What sort of 'understanding'?" Snape's tone had taken on a decidedly dangerous tone as he noted Harry's use of the young Malfoy's first name.

"We decided to put our past behind us," Harry replied somewhat truthfully.

"Why?" If the question had been a hammer, there would have been a dent in Harry's head.

Harry assumed a surprised look. "Surely, sir, you don't expect us to keep up such a childish vendetta?" he asked, avoiding the question.

"It's worked for you so far!" Harry's new Head of House shot back.

Harry looked at him in genuine surprise this time. If he didn't know that the man wouldn't stoop so low, he'd say Snape was sulking. Fortunately he didn't have to find an answer to that.

"So everything is quite all right, then!" the headmaster declared cheerfully.

Harry looked at the headmaster consideringly. "No, sir," he contradicted, "everything is _not_ 'quite all right'. Sirius was killed because I wasn't given information I needed, you cut me off from the mates who might have comforted me, and you have made too many other mistakes for everything to be 'all right': quite a few having to do with me. But—"

"That is _quite_ enough, Mister Potter," Minerva said, coming alive again after her shock. "I will not have you casting aspersions upon the headmaster!"

"Let him speak, Minerva," the old man said calmly, but wondering if he _had_ erred. He'd had his reasons, of course, but could he have...?

The Transfigurations professor-cum-deputy headmistress shot him a disapproving frown for his lenience, but subsided.

"I was going to say, 'but I realise that we're all human'. But there _were_ mistakes made," Harry said, eyeing the stern woman, "the first of which was, perhaps, leaving me with the Dursleys."

"I've told you before, my boy, that it was for your own protection," Dumbledore said condescendingly, defending his action.

"Yes, you have, sir," Harry said, looking at him. "The question is, sir, from what? Voldemort was gone – and as far as anyone knew for sure, dead – and his followers were without leadership." Harry held up a hand as Dumbledore made to speak. Surprisingly, the old man withheld his words, and Harry continued without interruption. "Even if there _was_ a danger from Death Eaters, there would have been no concerted effort for fear of Ministry reprisals; only small groups or individual attempts, if that."

"You see, sir, I've had some time to think this out," Harry added as an aside.

He, with the assurance of youth, was sure he'd got it right this time, not considering that perhaps he still hadn't all the facts. But that state of affairs had been created by others, so perhaps Harry couldn't be blamed.

Professor McGonagall was fixing the headmaster with a piercing look. She had been against leaving baby Harry with those horrid Muggles to begin with. But Albus' reasoning – to protect young Harry from the hero worship he'd have been exposed to – had seemed so reasonable at the time. In the intervening years, though, she'd wondered. Human nature being what it was, surely the furore would have died down after a year or two, before Harry could be too badly affected by it? And was the neglect and emotional abuse he'd suffered in the interim any better?

"Neville told me about his parents, about a year after my parents died," Harry continued, "and I'm sure that there were other rogues committing similar atrocities, but surely that kind of danger would not require the extreme measures you took. It seems to me a simple Fidelius Charm would have done the job quite nicely; after all, it's what you depended upon to keep my parents safe, wasn't it, sir? And that was with a powerful, fully healthy and alive Voldemort stalking about," Harry added. "So what can have been the **real** reason to leave me with magic-hating Muggles?" he asked.

"I take it you have a theory, Potter?" Snape asked. The man's tone wasn't friendly, but it was far less adversarial than usual.

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir. And it has to do with my parents natures. However, before I explain, I must sincerely apologise for invading your privacy, sir: but without that, I don't think I would have figured it out."

"Get on with it, Potter," Snape said impatiently, ignoring the apology. Insofar as he was concerned, the boy's apology for his invasion of his personal pensieve, and the memories contained within, came far too late – never mind that it provided the perfect excuse to stop wasting his time 'teaching' the brat Occlumency.

Harry, who had really not expected anything different from the potions master, turned his gaze back to Dumbledore, who was looking interested, but confident.

"My father _was_ the type of person Professor Snape has always accused me of being. He was arrogant, cocky, and rather heedless of others' feelings. My mother, from all accounts, had a habit of thinking for herself, was quite stubborn, and had something of a temper. I rather think I take after her more in that regard," Harry said for Snape's benefit, although he carefully didn't look at the man. "I think that our dear headmaster was afraid that I'd be quite uncontrollable were I to grow up in a wizarding household, or with any decent family that treated me as a human being. So he put me with a family that was quite likely to smother my spirit – or at least severely diminish it."

"Mister _Potter__!_" Minerva exclaimed, aghast at the accusation. Her loyalty to Albus Dumbledore was strong, but even so, Harry's words had an insidious logic to them.

"Do you truly believe that, Harry?" Dumbledore asked sadly. In his own mind, although there was a tiny twinge in his conscience, he was innocent of that intention. The twinge was because there _had_ been motives other than Harry's safety or well-being involved – just not so much the ones of which he was being accused: not consciously, at any rate.

"It's a theory that fits all the facts," Harry said, refusing to back down, "but there's more."

Without waiting to be censured or prompted, he continued. "I'll concede that Umbridge was forced upon you last year, but of the four years previous, none of our DADA professors were what they seemed. My first year we had Quirrel: a vehicle for Voldemort. In my second year we had Lockhart: a fake, a coward, and he had ruined several lives to write his books. In third year we had Professor Lupin: a werewolf, but he was a good teacher. However, he was pressured into resigning before the year was quite over, wasn't he?" Harry avoided looking at Professor Snape, but he could feel the man's glare. It had only been a little early, but Snape _had_ been responsible for Remus feeling he had to leave. "And in my fourth year we had Barty Crouch Junior, a Voldemort supporter, masquerading as Alastor Moody – although, ironically, he was a surprisingly good teacher."

"And your point would be?" Albus asked mildly. Listening to the young man's listing, he had to admit it sounded damning.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts, sir. You would have me believe that I'm the one who has to defeat Voldemort, and yet all but two of the professors we've had that should have taught me what I needed to know to undertake that endeavor have been all but useless – one of the useless ones actually _being_ Voldemort. So you've not exactly been a great judge of character, have you, sir?" Harry asked, making his voice sound almost kindly. "Not quite as all-knowing as you'd like us all to believe?" Even as much as Harry disliked the man right now, he hoped it wasn't anything more nefarious than that.

"Then there's Binns, a ghost who puts his classes to sleep and never covers anything other than the goblin rebellions. And might I point out 'Professor' Trelawney," Harry continued, "a woman you kept on staff because she had _one_ genuine prophecy? I'd venture that you kept her around to keep an eye on her, since almost everyone thought she was a laughing stock as an instructor. I can hardly believe that there weren't better prospects out there."

At that he got two snorts of agreement, although Minerva immediately looked apologetic about it, and which interrupted Albus' attempt to defend his decisions before it even began. The fact that the old man had 'found' Firenze within a few short hours of needing to replace the eccentric woman was proof enough of better prospects being available.

"If you were aware of that, Potter, why did you keep taking her class?" Snape asked coldly.

Harry gave a short shrug. "Ron's idea," he said simply. "I hardly enjoyed her continually 'predicting' my death, but Ron wanted an easy class that we wouldn't have much work in." He smirked. "I sometimes actually enjoyed inventing other gruesome 'predictions' of my death for her," he confessed.

"Yes, she showed me a few of those," Dumbledore interjected with a smile.

If the headmaster thought he was going to ingratiate himself with that comment, he was mistaken. It only reminded Harry of his presence.

"The point, sir, is that in light of these facts, and that you continually kept information from me that might have helped me make wiser decisions, you have, sadly, not proven to be someone to whom I wish to entrust my life and future. I will still take your advice into account, of course, but I would prefer to seek my guidance elsewhere." Harry would have liked to have called the man both a manipulative bastard and a foolish old man who was living on the dreams of glories past, but he wasn't stupid. That would only have inflamed the old man against him. This way Dumbledore might still resent him, but hopefully he wouldn't have reason to inflict a vendetta against him.

In point of fact, Dumbledore _was_ rather reliving his glory days in this battle against Voldemort. His views of Harry were quite mercurial, however. The boy was tool, ersatz grandson, weapon, and favoured light of his life all rolled up into one, making for a rather muddled viewpoint at times, and which _had_ led to some mistakes in judgment. There were times when he felt that he should retire, but there was nobody he felt he could turn the Order over to whom he felt was as capable. And until there was, he rather needed his base at Hogwarts where he could more readily be reached and direct operations. Usually he felt up to the task, but there were occasions, like this one, when he felt every year of his age on his shoulders.

Professor Snape had briskly walked Harry to Draco's room, telling him that the house elves should already have transferred his belongings there. Once delivered, though, he left Harry to his own devices. Harry knocked on the painting Snape said was the guardian for the portal to Draco's room, and waited.

Harry still wasn't sure how to handle Professor Snape. He wasn't ready to forgive and forget the man's part in Sirius' death, but he might have to forego any sort of retribution in view of the fact that he was now his Head of House. In that position of authority, Snape had far too much power and influence over Harry's life, should he choose to exercise it. He mulled over the problem whilst waiting for Draco to get off his arse to discover who was without.

Finally Draco opened the portal – and groaned upon seeing Harry standing there.

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~o

1: Line suggested by Ishe-Leigh

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~o

Betas: Ishe Leighe, Sheree Spataro. Brit-Picker: Andy Smith


	8. Chapter 8

**_No Light Without Shadows_**

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Eight**

"What are _you_ doing here?" Draco demanded sulkily. He was still a bit put out over Crabbe's comment at the feast, and halfway blamed Harry for it.

"In case you've forgotten—"

"Yes, yes," Draco interrupted impatiently. "You are now a bona fide Slytherin. That still doesn't explain—"

"Well it wouldn't be very smart of dear old Dumbles to put me in where the Death Eaters of the house could get at me, would it?" Harry 'explained'.

"So they're going to make _me_ put up with you the whole year?" Draco complained. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. Their relationship had been developing well enough, but a person needed their space, too.

Harry resented Draco's attitude. They had been getting along fairly well before they returned to Hogwarts. "You're _mine_, Draco," he said, asserting himself.

Draco's voice was low and sullen as he said, "Don't remind me." And he did resent being reminded of that damned triple vow, even if he no longer entirely resented the idea of belonging to the boy in front of him.

Harry ignored the rejoinder. "But as it happens," he said, "it's just for a couple of days."

Draco's face brightened fractionally at that news. He did need that time, occasionally, to just be alone and mull things over in his mind.

"They're converting the storage room next door for me," Harry continued. "Just think of it: we'll be neighbours!"

Draco's expression fell again. It was mostly acting, but not entirely. He liked the idea of his . . . boyfriend? . . . being close, but would that mean that he wouldn't have that alone time after all?

"Oh, don't take it so hard, blondie," Harry said with a grin. "It shall make sneaking to each other's rooms for a quick shag so much easier!"

"Harryyyyy..." Draco whinged in complaint, surprising himself. When had he become such a . . . girl? But he felt like pouting at Harry, and by the gods, he was going to do it!

With a sudden change of heart, Harry stopped his teasing. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and took Draco in his arms.

Draco melted into Harry's embrace, needing the comfort they gave him, and resenting it at the same time.

With Draco's compliance, Harry felt a welling of emotion inside him: protectiveness, tenderness . . . perhaps even a bit of fondness.

"I'm sorry, Draco. I guess being back at Hogwarts has made me act on old habits, a bit. But can you **honestly** tell me you don't want it?" Harry asked softly.

Draco fought with himself, but eventually gave in and shook his head. No, he couldn't say that without lying. But he couldn't admit it out loud, either. He couldn't admit to liking having Harry inside him. He couldn't say what else he wanted to say, either: that he wanted to be coddled and made love to in bed, not just to be a quick shag. True, they hadn't had _real_ sex in a while, but their beginnings haunted his fears. He was afraid that Harry just wanted the sex. And why did he care so much?

Almost as though he were reading his mind, Harry said, "I do think it could be better if we took our time, though. Work up to it, sort of thing?"

Draco nodded, a mild feeling of contentment rising in his breast. It wasn't a declaration of love, but it was a start. _Love?_ He thrust the thought away. Love was a weakness . . . wasn't it?

"_Potter?_" came a slightly befuddled voice.

They had been standing in Draco's open portal, and the inevitable had happened. Someone had seen. Fortunately, to Draco's relief, it was only Blaise Zabini – as close to being a friend as Draco had. Draco casually withdrew from Harry's embrace as though it was something that happened every day. Following his instinct to do so as quickly as possible (i.e.: jump away) would have given the impression that he thought there was something wrong with what he'd been doing: a weakness another Slytherin would be quick to exploit.

"Blaise Zabini, you know our newest house member, Harry Potter, I believe?" Draco said, giving a semi-formal introduction.

Blaise grinned at Draco. "Is that how you welcome all the new house members?" he asked wickedly. Although he'd seen and talked with Potter on the train platform, he'd spent the ride to Hogwarts getting reacquainted with last year's boyfriend. The experience had convinced him that the Ravenclaw would remain last year's boyfriend, but it had caused him to miss the discussion-cum-interrogation between Harry and the other sixth-year Slytherins. Oh, he'd seen how chummy Potter and Draco had seemed on the platform, but he'd assumed – wrongly, it now appeared – that Draco had somehow got Potter to cooperate in a practical joke on the other Slytherins.

"First years are too young for me, Blaise; you know that," Draco replied teasingly. What he was really feeling was a bit of apprehension. Blaise would probably be a bit of a test case now, since keeping his developing relationship with Harry from the other Slytherins wasn't a possibility. The sixth years knew already, and if any of the rest of them were clueless, they hadn't been paying attention at the Sorting Feast.

"But Potter?" Blaise asked, suddenly serious.

Draco looked at Harry, hesitated, then addressed him. "I think it might be better to inform him," he told the former Gryffindor.

Harry gave him a small nod and a smile, trusting Draco's knowledge of his fellow Slytherins. This being Draco's turf and one of Draco's people, he just stood aside, metaphorically, to let the blond handle the situation. He liked that Draco had consulted him, though.

Once inside, Harry cast locking and silencing shields around them. Draco didn't object to this infringement of his prerogative: a fact which Blaise noted with interest.

"You saw Potter's eyes at the Sorting?" Draco asked Blaise once everyone was seated.

"Yes," the dark-haired Slytherin replied.

Turning to Harry, Blaise matter-of-factly asked, "Demon?"

Not knowing just how the other boy meant the question, Harry replied, "Dæmentelen."

The dark-haired Slytherin's eyes widened slightly before he turned to Draco, asking, "Energy demon?" There was more to it than that, but it all tied in.

Draco solemnly nodded.

"Merlin's hairy arse," was Blaise' hushed, awed opinion. Anyone with active elemental powers was respected, but those with Energy demon powers were held in even higher esteem.

Due to Draco's briefing while at the Black mansion Harry wasn't as lost as he might have been, but he still felt he was missing something. That, or everybody was overreacting. He'd drag it out of Draco later though, rather than risk embarrassing him in front of a fellow Slytherin.

"Yours?" was Blaise' next question of Draco, giving Harry a sidelong look.

Harry was now officially confused. He was well aware of what they were talking about, but the significance escaped him.

Draco blushed and shook his head. "I'm his," was his hushed, embarrassed reply.

Now Blaise wasn't even _trying_ to hide his astonishment. "Bloody hell. How did _that_ happen?"

Draco drew himself together. "None of your bloody business," he replied warningly.

"You've shagged him?" Blaise asked Harry.

With a look at Draco's face, Harry replied, "As he said, it's no business of yours."

Draco's look of gratitude was his reward.

"Which can only mean you have," Blaise crowed in triumph.

"Someone finally got your cherry, eh, Draco?" he gloated at the blond. "And the Golden Boy, at that!"

"Zabini," Harry put in, a caution in his voice.

"Later, Potter; you don't know how long he's lorded it over the rest of us 'faggots' that he only topped. Superior Malfoy—"

"**Zabini!**" Harry said again, demandingly.

This time Harry got Blaise' attention, but only for a quick glance before he turned to Draco again. But as Blaise opened his mouth to continue gloating over Draco's 'fallen' status, something he'd seen registered in his mind and shut his mouth down. Slowly, he looked at Harry again. Gold eyes. Oh, gods.

"I think your stay is over for today," Harry said stonily.

Face rapidly paling, Blaise nodded. "Er, yes... I was just... Classes tomorrow, right?" he stammered as he got to his feet and started making his way to the portal. "Been nice to have, um, really met you, Potter. Draco? Er... Sorry?"

Blaise paused as he got to the opening. "Ah . . . Draco? The reason I came by? The Head Boy sent a message; you'll be patrolling tonight."

Harry's trunk and other belongings arrived via house elf shortly thereafter, but it didn't even begin to slow down Draco's rant against 'that great bloody arsehole, Blaise Zabini'.

When Draco's rant had finally run down, Harry asked, "What was that all about, then – him being so overawed about the elemental demon thing?"

"Status," Draco answered shortly.

"And I have it, then?"

Draco sighed. "We've already been over that, Harry."

"All right," Harry replied, "then what about that whole 'is he yours' thing?"

The blond's face tinted. "If I'd topped you, my status would have increased."

"And since it was the other way around?" Harry asked.

"You've gained status," Draco said in a low voice.

"And you?"

"I don't lose status since you were higher on the rungs anyway, but I'm rather shuffled off to one side. As long as we're together, it's considered that I'm riding on your coattails, now."

"And that was before the triple vow?"

Draco looked alarmed. "Yes, but don't tell anyone about that!"

Harry looked at Draco shrewdly. "That _would_ make you lose status?"

Draco nodded mutely, his eyes almost begging for Harry's cooperation.

Harry shrugged. "All right, then," he said off-handedly.

Draco almost kissed him in gratitude, but restrained the impulse.

For reasons even he couldn't explain, Harry decided to accompany Draco on his rounds that night.

"So why didn't you tell me you had been made a prefect?" Harry asked.

"What would you have thought if I had?" Draco asked in turn.

Now that he was starting to get along with the blond, Harry _really_ didn't want to answer that question. Draco didn't give him much of a chance to do so.

"You'd have thought I was bragging or lording it over you, wouldn't you?" Draco went on.

"Probably," Harry said with sheepish honesty.

They walked on in awkward silence for a minute.

Finally Harry's curiosity got the better of him. "That never stopped you before... Why now?" he asked.

Even in the dimly lit corridors, Harry could see the tint creep into Draco's cheeks.

"Draco?" he prompted. Harry had to strain to hear the blond's response when he finally spoke.

"By the time I thought of it, I'd already sworn myself to you," Draco said. "It would have been a rather pathetic attempt to restore my dignity, don't you think?"

"Do you really regret it all that much, being sworn to me?" Harry asked.

It was awhile before Draco responded.

"Yes . . . and no," he said. "I resent that you tricked me into it, but if you hadn't... And at the same time, it proved you were Slytherin material. Plus, you're a great shag," Draco added under his breath, his face blazing, causing Harry to both swell with pride, and be totally embarrassed. But then Draco was talking again, mortified that he'd let that last bit of information slip – and that Harry had actually heard it. "I'm not entirely unhappy about it, but I'm not thrilled, either." Then, because honesty seemed to be the order of the day, "We'd probably have got together sooner or later anyway, you know," the blond said.

"Oh?" Harry hadn't been thinking along the lines of establishing a relationship other than a short-term physical one, despite nascent feelings, but the statement intrigued him.

Draco nodded. "You're from Energy demon stock, and I'm from Water stock. Two very powerful elements. Very compatible. The only more compatible partners we'd be able to find would be another of Energy demon stock for you or Water for me of the same magical strength – and somehow I don't think that's likely to occur. If you haven't noticed, you and I are the strongest pupils at Hogwarts."

"You there!" Draco suddenly called out loudly. Stalking over to a statue, he ordered, "Come out of there, now!"

Sheepishly, two younger boys slunk out of the shadows behind the statue.

While Draco dealt with the young lovers who had snuck away from their houses for a quick snog, a third-year Hufflepuff and fourth-year Ravenclaw, Harry thought about Draco's words. It was true that Draco had always seemed to seek him out, and the blond was also the only one who could so easily get a reaction out of him. But it had always been adversarial. Was that attraction? Maybe, Harry admitted ruefully, if only of a very competitive, juvenile sort. Putting all that in the past, how did he feel about Draco _now?_

Attracted. Interested. Definitely turned on by his ex-rival's slender form. And, he admitted honestly, there had been moments since Draco's triple vow when Harry had felt very non-aggressive feelings towards the blond. Harry eyed Draco speculatively. Could it go any further? He wasn't sure, but he was willing to find out, anyway.

"Ah, I love the smell of power in the morning," Draco said facetiously as he rejoined Harry, having taken house points and sending the boys back to their respective dorms.

"It's still evening," Harry said with a sly grin.

Draco sent him a sour look. "Spoilsport," he accused. Harry just grinned.

They finished Draco's rounds with only occasional idle conversation, the rest of the time being spent in companionable silence. When Harry told him what Dumbledore had said about the appointments his new rooms would have, Draco became rather jealous. Only the Head Boy and Girl had an en suite bath and toilet; but he was very pleased when Harry invited him to share his, even though he was well aware that Harry had ulterior motives.

Draco routed out two more couples, of the boy-girl variety this time, and one boy out prowling the corridors on his own. All in all, Draco felt it was a job well done, although the time could have been better spent . . . perhaps snogging Harry.

Later, in bed, they broke the awkward wall that had grown between them, and Draco fell asleep with a very pleasant ache coming from his backside. Harry, laying beside him, kissed the blond's neck, and let himself fall asleep as well.

The next morning at breakfast Harry's new Housemates decided to test him (except for those sixth years who had already had their go on the train), making all sorts of outrageous remarks that would once have sent him into a rage. Harry set them right with a few well-chosen words, alluding to secrets each would rather not have everyone else know.

What they had forgotten was that Harry was a Parselmouth. Not only could he talk to snakes, but he could also talk to representations of snakes, so long as they were capable of any sort of animation. And in Hogwarts, non-magical representations of things were rare. All Harry had to do was talk to any snake figure, be it painting, carving, or otherwise in any area where Slytherins tended to linger, and he could learn whatever had been said there. His night walks in his past years had often proven productive that way. Of course it had been more for the purpose of trying to learn of plots against him, but he'd picked up other information as well.

Harry didn't tell them any of that. He didn't want his informants to become useless, after all.

And how had Harry suddenly developed so much self-control as not to get angry? While a member of Gryffindor House, he had been forced to hide his Slytherin attributes in order to be able to fit in, leading to a great deal of frustration. Now, although his temper was still there, he was free to use all of his abilities and knowledge, relieving the frustration and giving him more control.

Draco was almost in awe later when, after swearing him to secrecy, Harry had answered the blond's questions about his sources of information.

That afternoon in Potions, Snape was almost circumspect with Harry, eyeing the boy with both suspicion and bemused curiosity, not only for those things he'd seen and heard personally, but also – mainly, actually – because of the very Slytherin way Harry had handled his housemates at breakfast. And later, the fact that Harry seemed to have leapt light-years in his understanding of potions contributed to his suspicions. Could this be another instance such as with Barty Crouch Jr. impersonating Moody? But Snape hadn't been able to catch Harry drinking any potions, and since the Polyjuice Potion only lasted an hour, he eventually had to come to the reluctant decision that Potter was who he said he was.

All that studying and memorising Harry had done over the summer was paying off.

Harry's relations with his own year in Slytherin were mostly fairly easy. While those same relations with most of the rest of Slytherin House were usually a bit strained or awkward, and most first and second years seemed to be a bit in awe of him, there were very few instances of unpleasantness. Most of those were settled when Harry made use of his heretofore hidden Slytherin skills, or in extreme cases when his eyes turned gold. Only one had pushed things to the point of accidentally triggering Harry's Elemental abilities. That boy – Rupert Vaisey – had spent some time in the infirmary overnight while Madam Pomfrey healed his singed nerves. That rather put the wind up anyone else who may have had violent intentions.

The incident spurred Draco to start giving Harry the small amount of elemental training he was capable of giving – mostly how to restrain the energy so it wouldn't escape, along with a few exercises in energy control.

Harry's room, when it was complete, was a bit on the small side compared to Draco's, which assuaged a bit of Draco's hurt pride, but it still had a walk-in wardrobe; and the bathroom, with toilet, was very nice. Looking it over for future use, Harry thought he and Draco might find the bath a little cramped, but the shower was large enough to provide room for some very . . . 'interesting' play.

And between them, after a few weeks of researching the magic for it, they eventually managed to create a linking door between their rooms – camouflaged, of course – disguised as a full-length mirror on both sides of the wall.

"Harry!"

Harry rolled his eyes, but he was fairly caught. Hermione and Ron had been trying to catch up to him for days, but he'd managed to give them the slip until now. He'd been delayed packing up after NEWT-level double potions, and while it wasn't a class Ron had made the marks for, Hermione had – of course.

"Why are you avoiding me, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"One of Dumbledore's sycophants?" Harry replied. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I am no boot-licker!" she retorted.

"From what Harry tells me," Draco said as he came alongside, "you let Dumbledore tell you how to treat your friends. I'd say 'boot-licker' was a mild term for someone like that."

"Actually, I said 'sycophant'," Harry told the blond, cutting off Hermione's response.

Draco raised his eyebrows slightly. "Ten Galleon words, now, Harry?" he said in mock surprise. "Will wonders never cease?"

Harry growled at him. "Just wait until I get you alone, later."

Draco affected a bored expression, although he was anything but. "Promises, promises," he responded.

Hermione was about to cut angrily into this banter when something happened that left her speechless. Harry grabbed Draco to him and lightly bit the blond's neck, causing Draco to laugh. She wasn't sure which shocked her more – the erotic familiarity with which Harry treated Malfoy, or the fact that Malfoy not only accepted and seemed to enjoy it as something that happened as a matter of course, but that he was capable of such open, honest laughter.

Harry released Draco and faced Hermione again. He reached out and gently lifted her lower jaw, to close her mouth. "Does that answer at least a part of your question, Hermione?" he asked softly.

At her dumb nod, he added in the same tones, "A real friend would have ignored Dumbledore." Then he signalled Draco, and they left.

Draco figured the public display was well worth discombobulating Granger, and was smirking as they walked away. Fortunately they had been the only ones present at the time.

A couple of weeks later he and Draco were out walking, just to enjoy the brisk autumn air. Harry had invited Hedwig along, and she was flying lazy loops and circles around them, landing occasionally on Harry's shoulder for a quick caress, then taking off to investigate a promising sound or interesting shadow before returning to shadowing her owner.

They were just passing behind Hagrid's hut close to the Forbidden Forest because Harry wanted to see if he could get a clue about the subject matter of the next Care of Magical Creatures class, when Hedwig screeched in a way Harry had never heard before. Whipping around, he was just in time to see her plummet to the ground, an arrow through her breast.

"Hedwig!" he yelled, running over to her. Her fixed, open eyes told the tale. Harry yanked the arrow from her breast, then anger growing by the second, he stood grasping it tightly and stared at the forest, ignoring Draco's supportive presence.

"Who did that?" Harry shouted demandingly at the woods. "Who killed Hedwig?"

Draco put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Harry," he began, but Harry shrugged his hand off, and continued to ignore his presence.

Dark clouds began to gather in the sky.

"Come out—" Harry started to yell, when two figures emerged from the Forbidden Forest – an adult male centaur, with a very forlorn-looking smaller centaur following closely and clutching a broken bow. Upon closer inspection it could be seen that the smaller centaur was still a child, perhaps just entering puberty.

Harry's face now expressed shocked surprise as well as a lingering anger as he watched the two centaurs come up to him. He was vaguely aware of Draco's equally surprised features before the blond stepped behind him.

The clouds continued to gather, but the intensity had let up, and they weren't quite so dark now.

Stopping before Harry, the elder centaur gave a respectful bow, the younger following suit with a much deeper bow when the elder's tail whisked him.

"I am Depkarin," the adult said. "My charge is Chonsi. You are Harry Potter?"

Upon Harry's nod, Depkarin said, "The owl was yours?"

Finally, Harry found his voice. "Yes," he said. He gestured at the foal. "Your charge killed her?" he asked.

A quick, angered glance at the foal, then Depkarin admitted, "Yes. My apologies. I was teaching him to hunt, and as we were close, I brought him for a look at the humans. He was not aware that humans kept other animals for pets."

As much as Harry would have liked to punish the foal himself, it _was_ little more than a child, so he couldn't justify it to himself to do so. "I trust that you've since educated him?" he asked, his voice tight with emotion.

A gentle rain began to fall.

"It has begun," Depkarin replied with strained dignity, indicating the broken bow. "It will be some time before Chonsi again earns the right to learn hunting skills."

The centaur looked at the limp body of the owl. "It is not within our power to return your pet to you, but recompense will be made."

Harry followed the centaurs gaze and quickly looked away before he lost control of his emotions. "I had her over five years. At times she was the only one to whom I could talk. No recompense _can_ be made," he stated.

"He loved that ruddy bird," Draco put in softly. Looking at Hedwig's murderer, he was surprised to see a tear slip down the foal's face.

Evidently Harry had seen it too, because he said, "Don't be too harsh with the young one, will you?" Then he dropped the arrow, turned around, gathered up Hedwig's still form, and started walking back towards the castle.

After a moment's hesitation Draco gave a slight bow to the elder centaur, then followed Harry.

Not a few Hogwarts pupils had seen Harry carrying the sad little corpse of Hedwig to the castle, and the school was rife with rumour and speculation, wondering how the white owl had met its end. However as far as Harry and Draco were concerned they would have to make do with the rumour mill, since Harry didn't feel like talking about it, and Draco didn't feel like 'pandering to their infantile curiosities'.

But there _had_ been one other witness: Colin Creevey had been following Harry and Draco around and about, surreptitiously taking pictures of the two in their uncharacteristic role of friends – if that's all they were. Colin had missed getting a picture of the owl's demise itself, but he'd got pictures of the arrow-punctured corpse and the meeting with the centaurs, though he was too far away to actually hear what was said. Subsequently, within a few hours the whole school knew what had happened.

Not knowing the procedure for interring deceased familiars, especially ones that were also friends, Harry reluctantly consulted Professor Dumbledore. He was afraid that if he consulted his Head of House that the man would want to harvest usable potions parts from the owl and then merely vanish the remains.

Draco agreed that it was a possibility.

Dumbledore had taken the two by private byways to a small cemetery and used a spell to excavate a three-foot hole in the ground. He then showed Harry a pile of rocks from which he could transform a headstone if he wished. Then to Harry's surprise, he left them to bury the owl in privacy. He had expected Dumbledore to stick around offering his unwanted sympathy and comfort.

Draco didn't understand placing so much importance on an animal, but he recognised that Harry did, and didn't voice his opinions. He stood by and offered silent support for his dark-haired lover. Yes, they were lovers now instead of just sex partners, although neither of them spoke of their emotions, and only demonstrated them in bed.

Almost the whole affair was conducted in silence. Harry conjured a piece of linen from some pocket lint in which to wrap Hedwig's body, and gently lowered her into the hole Dumbledore had made for the purpose.

"Goodbye, Hedwig," Harry murmured. "You were a good friend."

Then he gently replaced the soil in the hole. After a moment's contemplation, he rose and went to the pile of rocks. There were rocks of many types in the pile, from slate to rose quartz. Harry chose one of white granite which had a heavy concentration of crystal in it. He transfigured it into the larger-than-life-size figure of a white owl, an exact image of Hedwig, then carefully incorporated the words 'HEDWIG: Good friend of Harry Potter' on the base before placing it on the grave.

Draco came up behind him and put a hand on Harry's shoulder, almost the most demonstrative they'd been in public since arriving at Hogwarts.

Harry broke the unspoken rule. He turned, gave Draco a wan smile, and pulled the blond young man to himself in a fierce hug. After a moment's hesitation Draco returned it, although much more tentatively.

"I don't think I ever told her I loved her," Harry said in a low voice.

"I rather expect she knew anyway," Draco said uncharacteristically.

"Thank you," Harry replied. Then he pulled back and looked deep into Draco's eyes.

"Don't be getting all sappy with me, Harry," Draco said, seeing the look in Harry's eyes. "I know how you feel about me."

"Do you?" Harry asked softly. "I want to say it just the one time; I love you."

Draco groaned and laid his head on Harry's shoulder. "You had to say it," he complained.

"Is it so bad? To know, instead of guessing or assuming?"

Draco shook his head. "No, but . . . I'm not good with the words, Harry."

Harry tilted Draco's head up until they were again looking into each other's eyes. "Are you saying you feel the same?" he asked.

Draco just stood there drowning in Harry's eyes for the longest time as he struggled with himself. Finally, he gave up. "I don't know," he whispered. "Love wasn't something found in the mansion. But you're very important to me, and I feel things for you that I've never felt before."

Harry stared into Draco's eyes, then a slow smile stole over his face. Draco loved him.

He took one last look at Hedwig's grave, the smile fading from his countenance. "Goodbye, Hedwig. I hope you're happy, wherever you are."

"Oh, Harry! I just heard!"

Hermione. Harry sighed.

"Come to gloat, Granger?" Draco sneered.

"Keep your gob shut, Ferret!"

And Ron. How wonderful. Harry reached out without looking and caught Draco's hand as it came up with his wand.

"Not worth detention, Draco," he said wearily, "and you're a prefect." He kept hold of Draco's hand as it slowly went back down – just for the comfort factor – and addressed his former best friend.

"We're together, Ron, so either be civil or..." Harry let the sentence trail off. He hadn't the energy for a fight right at the moment.

"Or what, Harry?" Ron asked, sounding hurt. "You know what he's like!"

"And I know you're just as guilty as he is," Harry retorted mildly, squeezing Draco's hand to try to mollify him. It didn't work. Now both redhead and blond were glaring at him.

"Oh, give it up, Ron!" Hermione interjected, finally entering the conversation. "It's true!" Then she faced Draco.

"And you! You know very well I wouldn't be happy over Harry's misfortune!"

"Well, it's been very nice talking to the two of you, so we'll just be on our way," Harry said sarcastically, starting away.

"Harry!" Hermione said urgently to his back. "You... You were right. We should have ignored Dumbledore."

Harry nodded without looking back, acknowledging her tacit apology. "Still, it's a bit late now, isn't it?" he stated, and kept walking. They should have bloody well thought of that before leaving him to stew in his own juices all summer.

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~o

Betas: Ishe Leigh, Sheree Spataro. Brit-picker: Andy Smith


	9. Chapter 9

**_No Light Without Shadows_**

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Nine**

Harry's concentration was shot for the next several days as he struggled with his feelings. Although sad about Hedwig's death, he wasn't as broken up about it as he thought he might be. And although he was still upset with the foal who had mistaken her for a wild bird of prey, that anger was waning very quickly – more quickly even than he thought could be accounted for by the knowledge that it had been an honest mistake by an uninformed child.

No, it wasn't really the direct emotions he was dealing with, but the self-doubt brought about by the more-or-less lukewarm emotions that lingered. They had been sharp and clear when the event happened, and although a few days had passed, shouldn't they still be quite strong?

Harry wondered if this might be an indication that he was growing colder, less feeling, and on his way to becoming another dark lord.

"Harry! Pay attention!"

Draco was coaxing Harry through a mock formal dinner, teaching him the use of all the place settings and when to use them, how to cope with a boring or slighting table partner, and everything else that goes along with such an occasion.

It had taken Draco several weeks since he had insisted he was going to teach Harry wizarding ways before he had finally got Harry familiar with the day-to-day rules of social interaction in high society, including how to tell when one was being subtly insulted or cozened.

Draco had included in those lessons how to dress to look the part, which was more complicated than one might imagine, and Harry was still struggling with it. One did not dress the same way for a business luncheon as one did for a formal supper, which was also different from how one dressed for a formal afternoon tea. It seemed every type of occasion had at least a slightly different dress code. A person could flatter or insult another by how they dressed for such occasions, and one must keep in mind which they wished to accomplish, and to what degree. The more subtle details such as these were things that could only be learned with time and experience.

Teaching Harry the things that Draco had learned over the course of his lifetime and were almost second nature to him had been frustrating enough that the blond had to bite his tongue on many occasions in order to keep from insulting Harry's upbringing. But since Harry had asked for this training, he already knew quite well that his upbringing had been lacking. To insult Harry for it when the ex-Gryffindor was trying to correct the lack... Well, it just wouldn't do. Still, the habit was deeply ingrained, and sometimes difficult to control.

"Hmph!" Harry responded to Draco's admonition, with a small glare.

"Are you still pining over that white . . . owl?" Draco asked waspishly, barely changing the word from 'feather duster' at the last second.

Harry shook his head. "Not so much," he replied. "Just wondering why I _don't_ care more than I do."

"What?" Draco incredulously exclaimed.

"She was a part of my life for five years. Then she gets killed, and... Well, I'm still a bit sad, but I thought I'd be more torn up about it."

"And this worries you," Draco said flatly.

"Shouldn't it?" Harry responded tensely. "Everyone's so concerned that I'll wind up being the next dark lord!"

Draco looked at Harry a bit strangely. "You think too much, Harry – and about the wrong things."

He got back to more imporatant matters. "Now as I was saying, when you use the finger bowl, one does not try to get their whole hand in: it's called a _finger_ bowl for a reason – and then only the _tips_ of the fingers. You then..."

Harry shook off his bleak thoughts, and redoubled his concentration on Draco's lesson.

"Hello, Harry."

The soft, shy voice took Harry by surprise.

"Hello, Neville," Harry replied. He had learnt not to show his reactions so blatantly as he used to, but he _was_ feeling just a bit wary.

"How is Slytherin treating you?" Neville asked. "You look well," he added.

"I'm doing very well. Better than I thought, actually," Harry admitted, wondering if this was just a pleasant chat or if something more was up. "And you?"

Neville shrugged. "Not badly. Things aren't the same with you not around," he replied.

"Nothing much I can do about that," Harry said. _Thank Merlin_, he added to himself. He felt much more relaxed in Slytherin. Not so much because he felt safe or accepted there, because he didn't really, but because he didn't have to watch his every word and action; he didn't have to put on an act. He could be himself.

"You could come see us," Neville offered.

Harry shook his head. "I don't think I'd be very welcome," he replied, "but I appreciate the offer." He didn't mind the offer, but he had no intention of going back up there where he could be emotionally ambushed. But Neville had never wronged him, so he didn't feel right about being snide with the Gryffindor as he so wanted to do. This had all the earmarks of a Hermione plot. Neville's next words nearly confirmed that suspicion.

"Ron and Hermione feel badly about what they did," the Gryffindor said a bit hesitantly.

"Longbottom," came the cool, sneering tones of Draco Malfoy as he walked up to them.

And just in time, because Harry had been about to speak scornfully to Neville anyway. He sincerely doubted Neville's statement, since neither of his former friends were shy and would have tackled him anywhere they found him if they had truly wished to make amends.

Neville ducked his head, refusing to look at the blond.

"Be nice, Draco," Harry gently admonished before again addressing the shy boy.

"I don't _do_ nice," Draco replied, but didn't say anything else.

Harry ignored the quip, and addressed Neville. "I haven't heard from Ron: not that I think it would matter much. And Hermione didn't strike me as being at all sincere when we spoke."

Neville nodded. "Some of the rest of us really miss you, though," he confessed, with a nervous glance at Draco.

"Well isn't that . . . special," Draco put in, unable to keep quiet any longer. Baiting Longbottom hadn't been anywhere near as fun as baiting Harry had once been – it was too easy – but he couldn't ignore an opening like that. _Really_, Draco thought, _what was the Sorting Hat _thinking_? Longbottom should have been a Hufflepuff!_

Neville blushed violently, but continued to ignore the blond. "Seamus, Dean and I, especially," he said, as though he hadn't been interrupted, "and Ginny, of course."

Harry frowned, undecided. On the one hand he'd been doing quite nicely without the lot of them, but he did have to admit that he rather missed Seamus' Irish wit, and at one time he'd gained a bit of pleasure from coaching Neville to be more outgoing. His feelings about Ginny were rather up in the air, what with her being Ron's sister, but she was definitely her own person, too. With a glance at Draco, he said, "Maybe we could all meet at 'The Three Broomsticks' next Hogsmeade weekend."

Draco frowned, but Neville's face lit up, creating mixed emotions in Harry's breast. He knew Draco would object, but he liked having made Neville happy.

"**But**," Harry continued, "only if Ronald Weasley and Granger are _not_ there."

"But Harry," Neville began.

"You heard him, Longbottom," Draco interrupted in chilled tones, "although we're going to have a few words about this," he muttered with a glare in Harry's direction.

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't think so," he replied coolly.

"Longbottom?" Draco hissed. "Gryffindors?"

"_I_ was a Gryffindor, if you'll recall."

Draco glared at Neville, who was watching the interaction with fascination. "Piss off, Longbottom," he said. There was no way he wanted a _Gryffindor_ – or anyone for that matter – listening to him and Harry argue.

Harry looked at Draco as though he was about to say something, then reconsidered. Turning to Neville, he said, "Perhaps I'll see you later. Draco and I have some things to . . . discuss."

The Gryffindor's eyes darted from one to the other, and his cheeks tinted. "Alright, Harry. Next Hogsmeade's, though?"

"Next Hogsmeade's," Harry replied decisively, with a nod.

"Oh, and Neville?" When the boy turned around to look at him questioningly, Harry added, "If Hermione put you up to that invitation, tell her she should do her own dirty work. You're better than that."

Neville's face tinted as he nodded and trotted off.

Before Neville was quite out of earshot, Draco turned back to Harry and said with barely constrained temper, "You were only a Gryffindork because you cheated!"

"How is putting up an argument cheating?" Harry asked with a glare.

Draco avoided answering the question and retorted, "You weren't a Gryffindork! You didn't belong there!"

Harry relaxed, and smirked at the blond. "You're right. So?"

The sudden lack of resistance threw Draco off balance, but although he quickly remembered what had started the argument, the slight delay was noted.

"So are you now sorry you're a Slytherin?" Draco accused.

Harry shrugged, but ignored the question to say, "Some of them are good people. I wouldn't want a steady diet of them, but..."

Draco made a face. "Thanks for the mental image, Potter."

Harry laughed. "You know what I mean."

"Yes, but why do you have to spend time with them?" Draco exclaimed exasperatedly.

Harry shrugged. "I don't. But like I said, some of them are good people. Why not give them a chance?"

"I hope you're not expecting me to go with you," Draco replied irritably.

Harry took Draco's face in his hands and kissed him soundly. When he pulled away, he smirked. "We'll see," he said.

"Mister Potter!"

Harry sighed. It just wasn't his day. First Neville, and now...

"Yes, Headmaster?" he asked with strained patience. He rather wished that Draco hadn't had to attend a lecture in another class. The blond could have helped remind him to keep calm.

"I'd like you to come up to my office at tea," the old man said.

"Why?"

"I think we should talk."

"I don't believe we have anything to talk about, Professor," Harry said easily, although merely the idea of a 'talk' in Dumbledore's office had his nerves on edge.

"We used to have some nice talks, Harry," Dumbledore said in hurt tones.

Harry let his distaste for the idea show as he replied, "The only talks I can recall us having in your office was you manipulating me into doing what you wanted, or trying to make me feel better about having done something you wanted. So what _do_ you want?" Harry's eyes had now turned golden.

Albus shot Harry a hurt look. "It's about Black Mansion," he said.

"What of it?" Harry asked with strained patience.

The headmaster debated whether he should continue to press for a more private venue, or concede to Harry's insistence that their business be concluded now. He decided, in light of Harry's golden eyes, that catering to Harry's whim might be more politic. "I assume that it is still available for Order meetings?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Why would you do that?" he asked aloofly, leaving it open for Dumbledore to guess whether he was referring to the headmaster's making an assumption, or putting into question his desire to use Black Mansion for Order meetings. "I thought you had vacated the premises when you assumed Bellatrix Lestrange would inherit?"

Albus nodded. "Yes, but the old meeting place _was_ much more convenient," he stated.

"I'm sorry to say that it isn't available at the moment," Harry replied truthfully, although he wasn't the least bit sorry, and made that plain to the old man. "It's undergoing repairs and renovations."

The head of the Order of the Phoenix nodded sadly. "I see," he said.

Harry felt as though the headmaster had just called him a liar. "Perhaps you might stop by during the solstice hols to see it," he sneered. "I doubt the repairs will have been completed, but much should have been accomplished by that time."

"Is there something wrong with where you are now meeting," Harry asked, "or do you merely wish to keep a closer eye on me by intruding on my privacy?"

Dumbledore merely looked Harry in the eye, then turned and walked away, leaving Harry with the strange feeling that he'd both won, and lost.

Harry sat back in the chair in his room after his last class of the day and sighed as he tried to relax. It had been a trying day. Draco might or might not show up later, but if he did it would be another hour or so, since the blond had one more class than Harry today. Harry leant back and cast his eye around his room, just to make sure that nobody had broken in, in his absence, and that nothing had been disturbed. As he did, he noted a packet of papers on his desk that hadn't been there before.

Leaning forward without touching it, he looked it over. It appeared to be official papers from the goblins at Gringotts. Harry cast a revealing spell on the packet, and was relieved to find that the only spells on it were for protection of the material and to prevent unauthorised examination.

And so it was that when Draco walked in through the mirror, he found Harry in deep concentration as he perused the contents of those papers. Draco had just had a most enlightening conversation with Professor Snape, and wanted to talk about it. Actually, since Harry was involved, he _had_ to talk about it. But just as he opened his mouth to break into Harry's concentration, there was a knock at the portal. Frowning at being interrupted, but relieved to be able to put off the conversation, Draco went to the door.

"Who's without?" he asked the portrait.

"Without what?" the portrait, a male Spanish naga, asked in a mild accent.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Who's knocking?" he asked impatiently.

"Oh! It's that Zabini chap," it replied. Blaise had been over enough times for it to get to know him.

Draco was mildly torn between sending Blaise away so he could continue his conversation, or accept the reprieve the other boy's presence represented. Actually, it wasn't much of a contest.

"Let him in," Draco ordered.

"I'm not _your_ portal guardian," it replied aloofly.

Draco grit his teeth, knowing that arguing with the portrait would be a fruitless endeavour.

"Harry!" he called.

"Yes?"

"Blaise is out in the corridor, and your bloody portrait won't let him in!"

"Good!"

"What?" Draco asked in astonished disbelief.

"Well it would hardly be a good guardian if it allowed just anyone entrance, would it?" Harry replied.

"Ha!" the naga declared triumphantly.

Draco glared at it, but addressed Harry. "Well let him in, would you?"

Harry peered at him through his eyelashes. "Only if you ask nicely," he said.

Out in the corridor, Blaise was getting impatient. "You're sure they're in?" he asked the portrait.

"Oh, yes," the naga replied confidently.

"Are they shagging?"

Draco was rather awkwardly straddling one leg of Harry's wide-open lap, kissing his green-eyed lover while grasping Harry's erection through his clothing. Coming up for air, he rather seductively asked, "Was that nice enough? Will you let Blaise in now?"

"You are _definitely_ getting shagged into the mattress later," Harry groaned.

Draco grinned. "I'm looking forward to it," he said truthfully. "Now – the portal?"

"You can let in 'that Zabini chap'," Harry called out to the portrait, quoting the naga's words back to him.

Draco looked affronted. "You _heard_ all that? And didn't **do** anything?"

Harry grinned at him. "I have good hearing," he said, ignoring Draco's second point.

"Am I interrupting something?" Blaise asked a little too eagerly as he came in.

"If you're going to be obnoxious, Zabini, you can turn right around and leave now," Harry said.

Blaise gave him a 'look', but reeled himself in. He noticed Harry's physical condition though, and smirked.

"What are you wanting, Blaise?" Draco asked.

"Are you always over here?" their visitor inquired of the blond, obviously avoiding the subject.

"So you wanted to speak to _me_?" Harry asked in mild surprise. Usually the boy turned up to natter with Draco, Harry being included by default, since he was there. (And lately it _did_ seem that Draco was spending more time in Harry's rooms than his own, despite his former worries about getting enough 'alone time'.)

Blaise nodded miserably. "It's about that bloody redheaded friend of yours," he admitted.

Draco groaned. "I know you have a weakness for redheads, but _Weasley?_" Draco interjected.

"You're interested in Ron?" Harry asked in astonishment.

Now a bit red-faced, Blaise nodded again. "You wouldn't happen to know if he swings our way, do you?" he asked.

Harry slowly shook his head. "I don't think so, but..." Harry's face took on a thoughtful look.

"What?" Blaise asked hopefully.

"Well, he's never really made a move on Hermione, has he?" Harry said.

"He took her to that bloody ball," Draco reminded them.

"No, Viktor Krum did," Harry replied.

"Maybe that's why he was angry then, don't you think?" Draco replied. "He was still glaring at them all evening, and jealousy rather speaks towards him being hetero."

Harry shook his head, denying it. "Not if he was only worried about his cover."

"You've lost it, mate," Blaise said, shaking his head in pretend sorrow. "As much as I'd like to believe it, that just doesn't make sense."

"Ron's had years to further a relationship with Hermione if he wanted to," Harry said, explaining his reasoning. "He hasn't, but he also hasn't dated elsewhere that anyone knows about. But he makes just enough noise about Hermione to make everyone think he's interested in her, doesn't he? Alright, then along comes Victor Krum, and Hermione's interested in him. If she actually developed a relationship with him, then Ron's cover would be gone and he'd have to either actually start dating someone else, or develop another cover. And Ron's nothing, if not lazy – at least where certain things are concerned. There's a lot less effort involved in trying to 'win' Hermione back from Krum than to start again from scratch, isn't there?"

"Harry," Draco said cautiously, "that's very convoluted reasoning, even for... Well, for _anyone!_"

"But it's possible," Harry insisted calmly.

"But hardly probable," Draco rebutted.

"At any rate," Harry said, turning back to Blaise, "you'll never know if you don't try."

Blaise just looked at them in disbelief, and wondered whatever he'd been thinking. Whatever it was, he had been expecting more sense to come of it.

They talked for a bit longer, then Blaise made his excuses, and escaped.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?" Draco accused Harry.

"Did what?" Harry asked, looking innocent.

"You made Blaise think he actually had a chance with Weasley."

Harry grinned. "Served him right, trying to poke his nose into our sex life," he said.

Draco looked at him for several seconds before breaking into a grin himself, shaking his head at Harry. "The Hat knew what it was doing, putting you in Slytherin," he said.

"And now," Harry said with a smirk, getting up and advancing on his boyfriend, "I believe something was said earlier about pounding you into a mattress?"

Draco returned the smirk and laid back on the couch he'd been sitting on. If he knew Harry – and he should, by this time – they wouldn't be getting as far as a bed.

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~o

Betas: Ishe Leigh, Sheree Spataro (who also brainstorm with me on occasion). Brit-picker: Andy


	10. Chapter 10

**_No Light Without Shadows_**

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Ten**

Harry woke gradually to the feel of Draco lightly tracing imaginary designs on Harry's front, from just between his nipples, to his navel, which was just barely above the tip of Harry's straining erection.

"Mm... G'morning," Harry said in a sleep-induced slur.

"Good morning," Draco replied absently, without pausing in his endeavour.

Harry reached for his wand and cast a breath-freshening charm on himself. Setting his wand aside, he then leant over his lover and gave him a long, lingering kiss. That started a slow avalanche that ended in a long, leisurely morning shag, and Draco's insides being coated with Harry's come: a conclusion that satisfied both of them no matter how often it might happen. However, in a departure from the norm, Harry then proceeded to straddle Draco instead of suckling him for his morning snack.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked as Harry grasped the blond's erection.

"I decided I want you in me," Harry replied matter-of-factly, guiding the blond's erection to his entrance as he was preparing to cast a lubrication charm.

"Stop!" Draco cried urgently. "Damn, Harry," he said when Harry paused, "you're not even lubed, let alone loosened up. That would hurt me, too!"

Harry leaned down and licked along Draco's jaw to his ear. "So do it," he whispered seductively. If his boyfriend wanted to believe he didn't know what he was doing, he'd go along with it – just out of curiousity.

Draco looked at Harry suspiciously. "And what's up with you, then?" he asked. Harry had never before shown interest in reciprocating. Why now?

"Don't you want to?" Harry asked in turn.

Draco hesitated, and then decided to wait until later to ask further questions.

Afterwards Harry snuggled Draco up to him a little more comfortably and prepared to try to catch a little more sleep. It was Saturday, and he had every intention of being as lazy as possible today. Having Draco fuck him had hurt to begin with – it had been awhile since the last time he'd bottomed – but he was surprised at how good it had felt to have Draco in him. And even if his arse hurt a bit now, it was a good hurt.

"Harry?" Draco said tentatively.

"Hm?"

"What do you think of marriage?"

Harry stilled, willing himself to alertness as quickly as possible. "Hm?" he asked again in a slightly higher, more urgent tone.

"What do you think about marriage?" Draco repeated, a bit impatiently.

Suspicion and caution heavily laced his voice as Harry asked, "Why?" He was almost alert, now. A few more moments, and...

"Because according to Professor Snape, we probably are," Draco said in a quiet, tentative voice.

"What?" Harry screeched, sitting bolt upright and fixing Draco with a disbelieving stare.

"We were talking and he asked how we had got together. Somehow the triple vow came up. And you know how he is, Harry; he threatened to move you to another corridor and make life even more miserable for you. So I told him."

"You told him," Harry repeated disbelievingly. It didn't conform to his picture of Draco, that the blond would capitulate like that.

Draco nodded. "He got this very strange look on his face and went into his rooms, then came back with a book. He looked something up, and then he got so pale he almost looked green."

"And that's when he..." Harry trailed off, silently urging Draco to continue, even though he was almost dreading what he might hear.

"He said that because of the circumstances when I gave the vow, and then you accepted it..." Draco couldn't finish what he was saying.

"That we're married," Harry said tensely, finishing the sentence.

"Some old wizarding law," Draco affirmed quietly, becoming ever more nervous and tense.

"What law?" Harry's eyes had gone golden again, although they weren't as bright as true anger would have made them; it was just stress.

Agitated, Draco said, "I don't know: some old marriage law! It's a simple wedding rite!"

"A wedding rite," Harry echoed blankly.

"Well, it makes sense, doesn't it, to make vows during intercourse?" Draco's tone was getting higher and louder, the more agitated he became.

Thinking about it, Harry had to admit it did make a primitive sort of sense, but that didn't mean he had to like it. How the bloody hell did he keep invoking these things?

"And it's still a valid law?" Harry asked.

"Laws are rarely taken off the books, Harry: they fall into disuse, they're forgotten, but they're rarely revoked," Draco said. "It's highly unlikely anyone would care enough about a law like that to go to the trouble of revoking it."

"I think some research is called for," Harry said. "And I know just who to rope into doing it."

Draco could understand Harry's viewpoint, but he couldn't help but feel just a bit insulted that Harry didn't want to be married to him. Not that he wanted to be married to Harry either, mind.

_'Liar,'_ his subconscious accused.

Draco ignored it.

"So, Hermione," Harry said, "it's a fairly obscure custom that has long fallen into disuse. Are you interested?" He had presented the problem as something that had come up 'in a discussion with another Slytherin' about old wizarding customs.

"And who are you planning to trap into marriage, Harry?" she asked with asperity.

Harry raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "Maybe you?" he facetiously suggested.

Hermione blushed, but replied, "As if you were interested!"

"You're right; I'm not," Harry replied with a grin. "But will you research that for me?"

"After the way you've treated Ron and me?" she asked.

"I think we're fairly even on that score," Harry replied, his voice cooling considerably, "but here's a chance to start repairing the situation."

Hermione paused, but remembering Harry's ire before, she decided not to push it.

"It's not something I've ever heard of before," Hermione admitted, weakening.

"Brilliant!" Harry exclaimed. "I'll be looking forward to hearing from you, then!" With that he gently clasped her shoulder in thanks, not being able to bring himself to hug her, and departed, leaving an exasperated Hermione in his wake.

"I didn't say I'd do it!" she muttered to his back, but knowing she would – not necessarily for Harry, but because she couldn't bear the thought that there might be something she didn't know about the wizarding world. No matter how much she read and studied, she was finding out there was so much more about it to discover.

After classes Draco walked into Harry's room to again find him poring over a stack of papers; and they appeared to be the same stack of papers Harry had been studying the night before. He was curious, but first things first.

"So did she go for it, then?" Draco inquired.

Harry looked up at the blond. "Hermione?" he asked.

"Of course."

"Of course!" Harry replied. "You _know_ that she has to know just everything."

"Good!" Draco replied, gracefully sliding into place beside Harry and trying to see what was written on the papers Harry had been so studiously examining.

Harry noticed, and turned them over. "Watch your nose, Draco," he teased, "it might find itself where it doesn't belong."

Draco shot him a look. "So what are they, then?" he asked, hanging his chin over Harry's shoulder.

"Papers," Harry replied unhelpfully.

"Oh, yes. Thank you very much. I couldn't see _that_ at all," Draco said sarcastically. He reached for the top one, only to have Harry slap his hand.

"Ow! You beast!" the blond accused.

"They're just a bit more on the Potter and Dæmentelen families that I asked Gringotts to rummage about for, for me," Harry said.

Draco kept his voice quite casual as he asked, "And what do they say?"

"They don't _say_ anything," Harry replied, a note of deviltry in his voice. "You have to read them."

"Oh, well," Draco said, getting up from his seat, "if you're not going to be sociable..."

Harry grabbed Draco's arm and pulled him back down. "What do you expect?" he asked. "You haven't even kissed me yet," he complained, diving in to capture the blond's lips.

About a minute later Draco pulled back. "So?"

"Mm... About an eight on a scale of ten, I'd think," Harry replied. "One would think you had your mind on other things."

Draco hit Harry's shoulder. "I wasn't asking you to rate my kisses!" he said exasperatedly.

Harry raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "No? Then what _were_ you talking about? It couldn't have been..." He paused as he picked up the stack of papers. ". . . these, could it?"

Draco growled at him.

Harry laughed. "Alright, alright! You remember me saying that the Potter family had more power than it seemed?"

Draco nodded impatiently. "Yes. So?"

"It seems the Potters were a branch of the Dæmentelen family."

"I'd already surmised as much," Draco said smugly, again resting his chin on Harry's shoulder, "but it's nice to have my guess verified. Is that all?"

"More or less," Harry said. "The rest of it tells of various seats of power, rights, responsibilities, and so on."

"And those are?" Draco asked.

"What makes you think you have the right to know?" Harry asked, getting a little impatient with Draco's inquisitiveness.

"Oh, nothing much . . . husband mine," Draco said, getting ready to dodge any reaction to his teasing.

It was good he had, because Harry aimed a half-hearted slap at the head laying on his shoulder. Draco fell back laughing, after jerking his head out of the way.

"I guess that makes you the wife, then," Harry said in retaliation.

Draco thought about it – for all of half a second, before backhanding Harry in the side. "Peasant," he accused, before sitting up and getting back to the point.

"So what seats of power have you, then?" he asked.

Harry ceded the argument and replied, "A seat on the Wizengamot, one on the board of directors for Saint Mungo's and one for Hogwarts, one—"

"You've a seat on the Hogwarts board?"

"Yes..." Harry replied slowly. He would have thought Draco would jump on the fact that he had a seat on the Wizengamot, so what...?

"Who's been sitting it, then?" Draco asked.

Harry blinked. "I imagine it's been sitting empty," he replied. "Since my father died, anyway."

"My father never mentioned it. In fact I recall him once saying he wished a seat would open so they could try to get another of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's followers in it so they could make more changes here."

"Voldemort," Harry corrected absently, before addressing the main issue.

"I think I may need to show up to the next meeting, then," Harry said thoughtfully, "and to the Wizengamot as well."

A knock at Harry's portal interrupted the conversation. Upon opening it Harry was surprised to find Professor Dumbledore. "Yes, Professor?" he asked, trying to remain at least civil.

"I was wondering if perhaps young Mister Malfoy was here with you. He doesn't seem to be in his own rooms," the old man said.

Raising an eyebrow, since the headmaster didn't usually seek out pupils himself, Harry nodded and said, "Won't you come in?"

"Actually, Mister Potter, I rather think I should talk to Mister Malfoy privately," Dumbledore replied.

Harry nodded again.

"Draco?" he called. "Professor Dumbledore would like to speak to you."

A few seconds later Draco was standing with them, looking at the headmaster with his usual cool disdain.

"Ah, there you are, young Malfoy," Dumbledore said with a hint of sadness.

"Yes, Headmaster?" Draco said, trying to prompt Dumbledore to get to the point.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, Mr. Malfoy. Perhaps we should retire to my office?"

Draco refrained, with difficulty, from looking to Harry for support. The realisation that he'd come to depend on the former Gryffindor so much came as something of a shock.

"May I suggest my rooms? They're much closer," Draco suggested.

Dumbledore inclined his head in acquiescence and stood aside to let Draco lead the way.

A few minutes later a much paler Draco came through their connecting doorway, and silently curled up by Harry on the couch.

Harry put his arms around his obviously shaken lover. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly. "Is Dumbledore being an arse again?"

Draco shook his head. "No," he said, his voice a bit shaky.

Harry waited, soothingly rubbing Draco's back. He knew if he pushed that Draco would likely get upset; and the blond was already obviously upset. It wouldn't take much of an excuse for Draco to deal with his distress by getting angry.

A minute later Draco turned to Harry and seemed to change the subject – and in a surprising way.

"Fuck me, Harry," he almost pled. "Own me."

Harry was quite taken aback. Although Draco had initiated sex between them on more than one occasion, he had never asked for it; and he had _never_ asked to be made to feel owned. In fact he had always insisted that he was free and independent. But if that's what Draco needed right now...

Afterwards Draco clung to Harry as if he were the last bastion of defence in a storm, and cried. Harry didn't know what was going on, and felt more than a little helpless and rather useless. But he kept silent and let Draco work through this on his own, his only efforts to aid being to hold and kiss his boyfriend and caress him, trying to make him feel as safe and cared for as possible.

When Draco seemed to have cried himself out, Harry gently asked, "What's happened, love?"

Draco took a deep, shuddering breath. "They're dead," he said.

"Who?"

"My parents."

Harry went still. "How?"

"He-Who..." Draco began, then stopped and resolutely said, "V-Voldemort."

Harry frowned. He wouldn't put it past the bastard, but why? It couldn't be because he and Draco were together, could it? After all, Draco had already refused to join him.

"Do they know why?" he asked.

"Us," was Draco's reply. "They left a note; 'For Potter's whore'."

Harry's eyes turned gold with the sudden strong anger he felt at the insult dealt to his lover. Even there in the dungeons the faint roll of thunder could be heard. But all he said was, "That doesn't make sense. You'd already refused to join him. I'd think he'd have acted long before now, if he were going to do so."

"I don't know," Draco said in a small voice, but you could hear the beginnings of anger in it. "Maybe he thought Mother and Father were untrustworthy because of me."

"I doubt it," Harry replied comfortingly, although that made a sort of sense. Voldemort was paranoid enough that he might think that because Draco was in a relationship with 'The Boy Who Lived', that his parents might also be in collusion against him. But again, he and Draco's relationship had been going on for several weeks – why now?

As far as Harry was concerned it was 'good riddance to bad rubbish' where Lucius was concerned, although he did wonder how someone had managed to kill the man while he was in Azkaban and get out again undetected, but he hadn't known Narcissa well enough to judge. Nor did he know if Draco was mourning his mother, his father, or both. He didn't think it would be right to ask.

Harry held Draco tighter to him.

They had attended the joint Malfoy funeral, along with about half of the Order of the Phoenix as bodyguards. Wizarding funerals were quite strange. There was a ritual during which the deceased were given into the care of the gods, and then the bodies disappeared in a slow, blinding light. A plaque would be added to the wall of the Malfoy 'mausoleum' to commemorate their lives so future generations wouldn't forget them – and that was it.

Almost a week later Hermione had finished her research into Harry and Draco's situation, and although she was a bit suspicious of Harry's motives, she still thought it a hypothetical scenario.

The verdict? It would indeed be a valid marriage according to wizarding law.

She had some scornful words to say on the subject, too. Harry had heard her out, agreed with her, thanked her, then gone on his way.

But the death of Draco's parents and the subsequent scene had rather changed his views. He still wasn't sure about the long term commitment, but he'd more or less trapped himself into that when he had tricked Draco into the triple vow, hadn't he? So. A spouse. Draco. At sixteen. How strange. Surreal, really. Funny how he really didn't mind so much anymore. He wasn't thrilled, but he wasn't all that dismayed about it, either.

When he told Draco, the blond started fuming, then stormed off to his own room and refused to talk to Harry for three days – except to rail at Harry about his 'stupid, daft brainstorm' that had landed them in the situation they now found themselves in, the one time Harry sought him out in his room.

It was a very subdued-seeming Draco who finally came to Harry and once again quietly curled up next to him. Actually he was feeling a bit sheepish for having thrown a fit over something that he had halfway wanted anyway. But he had something else on his mind.

"You're going to kill that bastard, aren't you, Harry?" Draco asked quietly, his head resting on Harry's shoulder.

"Voldemort?" Harry asked.

Draco nodded.

"I hope so," Harry answered. "It's him or me, you know."

Draco was quiet for almost a full minute before he said, "I think developing your elemental abilities might help. And I can help you learn Dark magic."

"I can learn the magic," Harry said confidently, "but how do I go about 'developing' abilities I don't even know I have?"

"Remember Vaisey? There are bound to be books or journals at the manor," was Draco's resolute reply. "We can go over the hols."

The thought was disquieting to Harry, but Lucius was dead. Then again, so was Narcissa. Had they killed her there, or elsewhere?

"Will it be safe?" Harry asked simply, not wanting to bring up Draco's mother in relationship with the question.

Draco pulled back and leveled a look of disdain at him. "My father's dead, Harry," he said scornfully.

Harry sighed. He was going to have to mention it after all. "Where was your mother?" he asked.

Enlightenment dawned in Draco's eyes. "At home," he said with growing anger and trepidation. They, or someone, had the gall – the temerity! – to invade _his_ home and murder _his_ mother! But that they had been able to bypass the wards and protections on the estate posed questions and implications that made his head spin. His father had to have betrayed his mother by giving someone the information to bypass the wards at the Malfoy mansion – and then they had double-crossed him and killed his father, too.

Harry nodded. All right; with that information he knew what he was getting into, and they could take precautions. And while he had a strong distaste for consulting Dumbledore, he had fewer compunctions about Snape. It would, perhaps, be best if Draco were to ask for that help, though.

When the solstice holidays came, Professor Severus Snape accompanied Harry and Draco to Malfoy Manor. In the interim the young men had undergone an intensive crash course in the construction of wards and protection rituals, and how to change them. For it was almost a foregone conclusion that whoever had killed Narcissa Malfoy had to have known how to disable or otherwise get around the protections that were now in place – almost an impossibility unless they knew what they were dealing with.

It took all three of them working for five straight days to change the wards, and Harry drew on every energy source he could feel to add power to them. He rather thought Draco was doing the same. It was good practise, for he had every intention of doing similar things to the old Black mansion.

One of the wards, and the trickiest of the lot, was an old blood ward. Although it acknowledged Draco as a Malfoy, it wouldn't accept that he was the heir, and so changing its parameters failed about three-quarters of the way through the process, at which point it snapped back to its original configuration. It was Snape who finally figured it out.

Sneering at Harry, he said, "Potter, who, in your relationship, is the 'wife'?"

"I don't see how that is any of your business, Professor," Harry replied neutrally.

Even through his mask of cool aloofness, Draco's pink cheeks gave away the answer. He could control his demeanour, but not his autonomic responses.

Seeing this, and trying to save Draco's pride, Harry said, "It depends on our mood at the time." Although Harry _did_ enjoy bottoming for Draco, he didn't do it often, and when he did it was almost always from a position of power – from above.

Ignoring Harry and maintaining his mask, Draco asked Professor Snape, "You believe that Harry might be considered the Malfoy heir?"

"If he is the dominant partner in your marriage, yes," snapped the potions master. He was going to be mightily disappointed in the blond lad if that was the case.

Without looking at his spouse (a term he wasn't quite comfortable with, but was determined to accept), Draco said, "Harry . . . try it."

Harry insisted that Draco work it with him so that both of them would be recognised by the wards, both of them adding their blood at the proper time. It worked, but Draco knew he was secondary in the work – that he was only added as a courtesy – but it did give him a measure of control over them.

As the blood ward settled into its new configuration, Draco looked expressionlessly at Snape. "My husband and I appreciate your help, Professor," he said, and then walked away in the direction of his rooms: the same rooms he and Harry had been inhabiting since they'd arrived.

Harry groaned. "He's going to be impossible for a while," he commented to nobody in particular. Although he had no problem fighting for and wielding political and social power elsewhere, he tried to refrain from using his power over Draco. It usually made life more pleasant.

He ignored Snape's unpleasant smirk. He didn't see it turn into a grimace of distaste as the man realised that his heretofore favourite pupil belonged to Potter, when it should have been the other way around – if it had to happen at all.

Professor Snape's thoughts were awhirl. He couldn't quite see how the young Malfoy could have fallen under Potter's . . . What? Influence? Allure? The magic of a triple vow wasn't usually so strong, but he'd tested the bond with various carefully and secretly cast spells, and each of them had reported the same fact; Potter and young Malfoy's bond was extremely strong, indeed. Insofar as he could ascertain, it was unbreakable. He almost felt sorry for Draco, except that the young blond man had admitted to taking the vow voluntarily. Severus had been sure the young man was hiding something, but hadn't been able to pry it from him.

Snape shuddered that anyone could find a Potter an acceptable partner, and made his way to the apparation point. He still didn't understand Lily Evans' choice.

Over the next four days Harry's prediction proved out. Draco was civil; he was polite. What Draco wasn't was warm or loving, and turned away from Harry whenever he tried to show affection of any kind.

"Damn it, Draco – it's not _my_ fault that bloody ward thinks you're not the Malfoy heir!" Harry finally exploded.

"Isn't it?" Draco retorted. "Two words, Potter: 'triple vow'."

"All right, yes! But even so you still wouldn't have inherited until your majority!" Harry retorted.

"But I would have inherited!" Draco replied fiercely.

"And you and I would still be enemies," Harry said with soft intensity.

That caused Draco pause. Although he had come to cherish his relationship with Harry, he felt keenly the loss of something he had been raised to expect would be his. He was torn. He couldn't have it both ways, but he wanted it so. He wanted it all: Harry, his blood right... All of it. Of course the law would cede all the monies and properties to him after his parents' deaths were investigated, but he'd always know that magically, it all belonged to Harry.

Staring at Harry, into Harry's amazing green eyes, Draco, for the first time, said, "I love you," and then complained, "but why does everything always go to you?"

Harry could have reminded his lover about the Dursleys and his lousy childhood, about Voldemort attacking him every year – about the people who had died around him and the wizarding world's fickle opinion of him, but it wouldn't have been appreciated, so he kept quiet and merely pulled Draco into a hug. This time it was accepted as Draco almost melted into him.

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~o

Betas: Ishe Leigh, Sheree Spataro (who also brainstorm with me on occasion). And many thanks to Andy, who somehow finds time out of his VERY busy schedule to Brit-pick for me.


	11. Chapter 11

**_No Light Without Shadows_**

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Eleven**

Those four days of Draco's snit-fit weren't completely wasted. He and Harry went through most of the libraries looking for books and journals to help them discover and develop whatever elemental abilities they had. There were many books that mentioned that such abilities existed and what sort of elementals they could be wrested from, but they found none that would help train such abilities.

With obvious reluctance Draco began showing Harry the secret rooms in the mansion, feeling that with each one he showed Harry that he lost that much more control over his childhood home. There were a few of them, and some stank of depravity or evil. While he would have presented a face of haughty pride to anyone else, Draco felt oddly ashamed whenever he entered one of those with Harry.

"We shall need to cleanse these," Harry remarked as they entered yet another chamber that felt tainted. He was careful to keep his tone neutral, not wanting to seem to be accusing Draco of anything.

"It won't be easy," Draco warned. "A couple of these rooms have been used for generations for..." He trailed off, reluctant to detail the activities that had occured.

"Dark magic?" Harry suggested.

"The darkest sort," Draco agreed, relieved to have a general, rather than specific explanation to offer, "but you do realise that not all Dark magic is evil?" Draco added somewhat defensively.

Harry was sceptical, but all he said was, "Oh?"

Draco nodded abstractly as he was perusing a shelf of books. "Technically, some forms of _healing_ could be labelled as 'Dark'," he stated. "Curing a disease, for example, or disinfecting a wound."

"How could _that_ be Dark?" Harry asked, almost feeling insulted for Madam Pomfrey.

"Well, it's murdering millions of living organisms to cure _one_, isn't it?" Draco said as though it should have been self-evident.

"But they're germs!" Harry protested, even as he acknowledged to himself that Draco had a point.

"And Voldemort says 'they're just Muggles'. It's the same attitude. The point is that it's what you use magic for that counts." Draco replaced a book on the shelf. It had a promising title, but while it had some interesting material in it, it hadn't held what they were looking for. He'd remember it for another time, however.

"I don't see anything here that would help, either," the blond added.

Harry was a bit confused until he realized that Draco was referring to the books on the shelf, with that last sentence.

"Is there anywhere else we can look?" Harry asked, deciding to put the other conversation aside until a later time. Draco _had_ given him something to think about, though.

He almost immediately changed his mind. "So what sort of Dark magic could one learn that wouldn't cross the line?" he asked. Not that he was all that concerned, anymore. Although he hadn't yet had the chance to practise any of them except in mime, he had already memorised several Dark Arts spells and their counters. He refused to handicap himself by limiting his magical arsenal.

"Dumbledore and his lot have it all wrong, you know," Draco remarked. "There is very little magic that is all Light or all Dark. If one _must_ think of magical use in shades of light and dark, it's mostly shades of grey."

He sighed. "And there's just one more place of which I know to search: the Malfoy sanctum."

"Shades of grey?" Harry inquired.

Draco shrugged. "There are few spells that can't be used to hurt someone. I could use a levitation charm to pick someone up to great heights and drop them, for example. And a lot of so-called 'Dark' spells are ruddy useful: even the Killing Curse could be put to good use."

"How?" Harry exclaimed loudly in surprise.

Draco gave his husband a look that almost screamed 'are you _that_ dense'? "Hunting: or even a mercy killing . . . if someone were dying of an incurable disease, for instance."

"We have those?"

"What? Incurable diseases? A few, yes, but an irreversible curse would be more common. But weren't we discussing the merits of various types of spells?"

"Yes. Shades of grey," Harry replied. That actually made sense, when you came to think of it. There weren't that many spells that couldn't be put to a harmful as well as a constructive use, and even many of the protective spells Harry had learnt were actually attacks on your attacker.

Following Draco's direction, Harry pricked his finger and let a drop of blood drip onto the threshold of the sanctum opening when they arrived, upon the assumption that as the magical heir, he would have access. As he did so, he felt the wards scan him. A second later a wall of force slammed into him, pushing him violently away.

Harry frowned lightly as he picked himself up off the floor, considering the problem of the unseen 'door' in the wall, rubbing the back of his head where it had hit the opposite wall. His back and shoulders felt bruised, too.

Draco looked at his husband a moment and then gingerly touched the wall that held the sanctum entrance with his fingertips. Nothing happened, so he leant forward and put his whole hand firmly upon it. Again nothing happened.

"You may as well try it," Harry told him.

Draco pricked his finger and let two drops fall on the threshold. Without anyone touching it, the entrance slowly irised open.

A smirk immediately crossed Draco's face. He entered, but when Harry tried to follow, he ran into an invisible barrier. Draco shed another couple of drops of blood on the threshold and with an even broader smirk, pulled Harry across it.

Although he didn't say a word, Draco was insufferably smug for the rest of the day. Here was proof that Harry _didn't_ get it all: that he himself still had a place at, and a claim on Malfoy Manor. Only Malfoy blood allowed entrance to the Malfoy sanctum.

Although Harry found Draco's smug attitude a bit irritating, this mood was definitely better than the one Draco _had _been in.

In the library of the sanctum rooms they found several books that delineated the training of a Malfoy's water elemental abilities. "It shouldn't be too difficult to adapt them to help you with yours as well, Harry," Draco said confidently.

In fact there was one book that outlined, but with no great detail, the training of other sorts of elemental abilities. It wasn't in-depth enough to be helpful on its own, but in tandem with the Malfoy training books it might be a fairly good guide.

They had just finished going through yet another of the books they had brought back, copying out any relevant passages. This one had taken them five days to pore over. It wasn't that it was so large, as that the book was hand written, as were all of the older books. The flowery style of the writer of this one was almost as hard to read as a five-year-old's scrawl.

"Hey, Potter! The headmaster wants you outside!"

Harry sighed with exasperation. What did the old man want with him now? And out of doors! A situation that he and the staff couldn't take care of themselves? Harry couldn't imagine what that might be... Except Voldemort. Had the time come already? He rather hoped not; he wasn't ready. For the time being he'd assume there was no imminent danger, while being ready to act in case there were. It wasn't likely that Dumbledore would have sent a third year with such a vague message if imminent danger was in the offing, anyway.

"Thank you, Pervis," he said to the boy.

"You're actually going?" Draco inquired.

Harry shrugged. "He's still the headmaster," he explained. "Coming?"

Harry had conflicting emotions about that last question, cum invitation. On the one hand he'd rather like to keep Draco safe if there _was_ danger. On the other, his spouse was well able to take care of himself, and would throw a right fit if he wasn't included.

Draco looked at him a moment and then stood, silently giving his affirmation to the question through his actions.

They loaded the books in Harry's rucksack, then they left the library, heading for the main doors of the school.

"Do we know where on the grounds we're to meet the old coot?" Draco asked.

"Pervis would have said, I think, if it were the Quidditch pitch or elsewhere. If we have to hunt Dumbledore down, the little nose-wiper will get a memory lesson," Harry said dispassionately.

The Slytherins had quickly learned that the Harry Potter that had transferred to their House was quite different from the one they had observed in previous years. This Harry rarely let an insult or slight go unpunished, although there was rarely anger involved. He was only making sure that his Housemates didn't get the idea that he was an easy target. By acting on the small injuries, he made more aggresive attacks less likely.

Harry was now only slightly less feared and slightly more respected than Draco had been at the height of his power: the main difference being that Harry usually tried to make the punishment fit the crime, whereas Draco usually punished in excess of the crime, although under Harry's influence that was slowly changing. And if there was any doubt of what had been said or done, or by whom, Harry made sure of the facts before he acted. Draco had always assumed he was right, and acted on that assumption.

Draco hadn't changed in that last respect. He was still the acknowledged leader of Slytherin House, although Draco had a nagging suspicion that with his father first in Azkaban, and now dead, he wouldn't have been without Harry's silent backing.

Harry, for his part, almost never corrected his partner in front of others, aside from a warning look of one sort or another. When they were alone, however... But Draco usually let it go in one ear and out the other, all the while keeping a close watch on Harry's eyes. One flash of gold, and it was a whole other Quidditch game.

It was easy to spot the headmaster when they got outside. He was with a small contingent of centaurs.

Although Harry felt a slight feeling of resentment at the sight of the creatures, his sense of curiosity was stronger.

"They've some nerve," Draco muttered.

"It's alright, Draco," Harry replied quietly, while silently agreeing with him.

He studied the group as they walked towards them. He recognised the hunter and the young centaur who had killed Hedwig, although he had long since forgotten their names. Harry also recognised two of the other centaurs in the group: a redheaded centaur that Harry had met twice before – Ronan? – and Firenze was standing next to Dumbledore. It would make sense that the old wizard would want the new Divination professor, a centaur himself, to be there to act as a mediator if necessary.

Harry, to his recollection, had never seen the other two centaurs before.

A movement near the edge of the Forbidden Forest drew Harry's attention. Another centaur holding a bow and arrow at the ready was standing there restlessly. Bane. For a species that prided itself on clear thinking, the black-haired centaur could best be described as a paranoid alarmist. Harry hoped Bane didn't get the notion that anyone was being attacked. Centaurs were notoriously good archers.

As Harry and Draco drew near, the young centaur, who was holding what looked like a clay pot with a lid, went carefully to his fore-knees and bowed, his teacher giving Harry a respectful nod of the head. The others looked on impassively.

"Do you remember their names?" Harry muttered to Draco.

"The hunter was Depkarin, and the little one is Chonsi. Other than Firenze, I don't know the others," Draco replied. In high society it was considered good politics to remember names and the faces that went with them, as well as at least a few facts about each. These two had negatively impacted Harry's life: reason enough to remember them.

"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore called out jovially as they got within easy talking distance. "So glad you could join us."

Harry scowled at the old man. "You asked for me, sir, and as you _are_ the headmaster here..."

"Quite so," the headmaster replied in the same tones as before, although he seemed slightly more subdued now.

Harry nodded respectfully to the adult centaurs in the group while ignoring the still-kneeling youngster, then turned his attention to Depkarin.

"Depkarin. To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?" he asked. Although he was trying to be . . . pleasant, Harry's bearing was a bit stiff.

"I regret the circumstances of our last meeting, Harry Potter," the centaur said, replying to Harry's manner, "but if you'll recall, I did mention that we would attempt to make recompense?"

"Yes," Harry replied. "It was kind of you, but..." Words failing him, Harry shrugged.

The centaur motioned to the kneeling young centaur. "Young Chonsi has found what he hopes will be an acceptable substitute for your owl: a phoenix."

Harry's jaw dropped and his eyes popped wide open. Dumbledore was the only wizard he'd ever heard of having a phoenix, and he had no idea how the old man had come into its possession. But that little pot couldn't possibly hold a full-grown phoenix. It would have to be a newly-regenerating phoenix, a baby, or an egg.

"Close your mouth, Harry!" Draco hissed.

Harry was now in uncharted territory. Even as he closed his mouth and tried to compose himself, his mind was working frantically, trying to think of how he should act. He knew without a doubt that he was going to accept the gift, but he was lost insofar as how he should go about it. He'd simply have to wing it.

Harry turned to the young centaur who, even kneeling, was almost as tall as he was.

Chonsi bowed again, holding out the basket to Harry.

Harry took the basket. As he did so the thought ran through his mind that with their physiology it must be quite difficult for centaurs to bow, let alone hold it for any length of time.

"Thank you, Chonsi," he said graciously. "A phoenix is a royal gift, indeed."

"You may rise, Chonsi," the young centaur's teacher instructed him.

Although he tried to hide it, the relief was plain on the young centaur's face as he regained his feet.

"May I present Chonsi's sire and dam, Adeifo and Dacia?" Depkarin said, indicating the two centaurs Harry hadn't seen before.

Harry turned to the two, and gave a slight bow. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance," he said.

The male, Adeifo, replied, "It is a pleasure to meet one so forgiving."

Harry gave a slight shrug. "He is young," he said.

"Yes," Dumbledore broke in, and then changed the subject.

"Is there anything special we should know about this phoenix?"

"It is an egg," Depkarin revealed.

"What species?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes sparkling with inquisitive fervor.

"As I said, it is an egg," Depkarin replied.

Dumbledore face now wore a slight frown. "I'm afraid I don't understand," he admitted.

"If hatched in the wild, a newborn phoenix will take its nature from its surroundings, usually resulting in a fire phoenix since its parents will keep the egg warm with fire. If hatched in the presence of an intelligent being, its nature will be dictated by its owner's nature."

"If you don't mind, Professor?" Harry asked, his voice tense. The old man's manner seemed entirely too proprietary for his peace of mind.

A slight tilt of Dumbledore's head indicated his acquiescence. Harry turned back to Depkarin.

"What must I do to ensure its health and well-being?" he asked.

"In the main, keep it warm until it is hatched and fletched. They prefer raw meat and berries until fully grown, and then they will fend for themselves."

"How often will it need feeding?"

"It will let you know, but you can expect to feed it between three and five times a day. They have quite an appetite at first."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. He couldn't think of any more questions to ask. Except... "Is there anything else I should know?"

Depkarin looked thoughtful for a moment. "The lore doesn't mention anything else," he replied.

That rather startled Harry. "The lore?" he asked. That rather sounded as though...

"Newborn phoenix are rare, occuring on average only every seventy-five to two hundred years. Our interventions with them happen far less frequently."

The phoenix egg was nested in rust-red downy feathers of a type Harry had never seen before. They gave off their own warmth, but Harry had been warned that the down would lose its ability to give off heat unless regularly exposed to heat, which was why the clay pot was now ensconced near the fireplace in Harry's sitting room.

He took the egg out and handled it a few times a day, allowing Draco to handle it when he wished as well, and had made arrangements with the kitchen house elves to supply berries and raw meat as needed once it had hatched.

"So what made you come after me in the Alley?" Harry asked lazily, as they lolled in bed one night.

"You man-handling me, of course," Draco said, easily making the mental jump.

"Mm-mm..." Harry mumbled negatively. "Before that. When you were insulting me."

"Opportunity," Draco replied shortly.

Harry turned over to face the blond, and put a hand on his lover's well-formed, pale chest. "And all the other times, ever since we first met?"

Draco grew very uncomfortable. "It hasn't been since we first met," he denied.

"All right," Harry agreed, "since our first ride on the Express."

Draco wasn't quite squirming, but Harry could tell the blond was discomposed, and then he replied, "You publicly humiliated me."

"What? How?"

"When I offered to help you," Draco said, not meeting Harry's eyes.

It took Harry a moment to puzzle it out, but, "When I didn't take your hand?" he inquired.

Draco gave a small nod.

"You insulted Ron," Harry explained, his voice rising querulously. How else was he supposed to have reacted, with that provocation?

"If you'll recall, he first insulted me," Draco said tensely, his emotional reaction causing him to half turn away from his husband in an instinctive, self-protective move.

Harry frowned. "How?"

"He laughed at me." When Harry still didn't react, he expounded on his reply. "When I introduced myself."

"That was an insult?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Surely you've learned _something_ by now, Harry," Draco said, turning back to stare up at Harry, willing his lover to understand.

When Harry only stared blankly at him, he sighed. "It was the _way_ he laughed. He _sniggered_, as though being a Malfoy was a dirty joke."

Harry thought it over, trying to recall the details of that incident so long ago, and then slowly nodded. "And he hardly ever missed the chance afterward to insult you or rub his friendship with me in your face – ostensibly by 'protecting' me from you. Mind you, there were more than enough times when you gave cause."

Draco sneered up at his husband. "Are you telling me you couldn't protect yourself?"

Harry looked at Draco disdainfully. "Of course not: just that you tried to get me – us – in trouble so often."

"You were right the first time," Draco muttered, breaking eye contact.

"Why?" Harry demanded.

Draco blushed, and refused to answer.

"Draco?" Harry asked, gently insistent.

Draco met Harry's eyes defiantly. "Well, you wouldn't be my friend, would you?" he said with some asperity.

"Insults, and pranks meant to get us in trouble are friendly overtures? You had a _fine_ way of showing that's what you wanted," Harry replied with a slight amount of exasperation.

Draco remained stubbornly silent.

"You still haven't answered my question," Harry observed.

Draco looked away, and then said, "It was the only way to get you to pay attention to me, wasn't it?"

There were tears in Draco's eyes now, and they melted Harry's irritation away.

"Not the _only_ way," Harry whispered softly as he leant down and started nibbling on Draco's pale throat.

Draco couldn't quite prevent the soft whimper that escaped him at the sensation, but then he said, "You pervy sod... At eleven?"

Harry didn't answer. He had lost interest in the conversation, and had much more riveting things on his mind.

A few days later Harry was perusing yet another of the books from the Malfoy sanctum. Actually the passages he was reading had to do with marriage among the elemental wizards and witches, although he didn't let on to Draco, who was poring over another of the books on the other side of the bed. Although they were spending a lot of time on these books, they always made sure to get school assignments and any necessary revising out of the way first. Suddenly, Harry's body stiffened.

Sensing the change, Draco looked up curiously.

Knowing he had Draco's attention, Harry asked, "Draco, you _have_ been taking precautions, nights?"

"I take it you aren't referring to wards and locking spells," Draco remarked, curiously.

Harry shook his head. "No. Sexual precautions."

"We don't have those sorts of diseases, Harry."

Harry slowly met Draco's eyes.

Mind racing, wondering what his husband might be getting at, Draco latched onto an outlandish idea. "Wizards don't get pregnant either, Harry," he said somewhat impatiently. "Will you stop being so bloody closed-mouthed and tell me what's on that supposed mind of yours?"

Harry slid the book he'd been reading over to the blond, pointing out the relevant passage, and waited.

As he finished reading, Draco paled, and then his eyes slowly came up to meet Harry's. "Bloody hell," he said in a hoarse whisper.

Harry nodded.

"You're never touching me again, Potter," Draco said, his voice only slightly recovered.

"We just have to learn the appropriate protection spells, Draco," Harry calmly argued. "And I've been at risk, as well."

"I am _not_ going to..." Draco seemed to be fighting to get the words out, and was failing.

"Get pregnant?" Harry supplied helpfully.

Draco nodded vehemently. "One: I'm male and not made for . . . that – and it would ruin my figure. Two: we're sixteen. And three: I simply refuse! I won't do it!"

"Well if you start throwing up mornings, do let me know, won't you?"

Draco hit him . . . hard.

But later that night Draco found he was having problems sleeping. He laid there next to Harry and listened to him sleep, and wished he could join him.

The problem was that he _had_ been having odd bouts of nausea lately: not enough to cause him to sick up, but it was troubling. He had assumed it was because of the extra stress of NEWT level classes, plus everything that was going on between him and Harry: Harry's non-scholastic lessons, the research, planning training schedules, and so on. But with this new knowledge...

It wouldst seemeth that there be ane affecte not foreseen by we who have so enhanced the powers of ourselfs and our familys with the mighte of the foule demons of the elements. Ane man's bellie mighte find itself quickening with childe, if he be of the persuasion to lie with ane male lover and so allow himself to be loved as unto a woman. Queerly, this affecte be so far found to be restricted unto those men magickally bound, as in marriage.1

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~o

1: It would seem that there is an affect that wasn't foreseen by we who have enhanced the powers of ourselves and our families with the might of the foul demons of the elements. A man's belly might find itself quickening with child, if he is of the persuasion to lie with a male lover and allow himself to be loved as if he were a woman. Strangely, this affect has so far been found to be restricted to those men who are magically bound, as in marriage.

(If anyone can help me with a more authentic [circa 1200's-1300's] English translation and spelling, including grammar, I would be most grateful.)

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~o

Betas: Ishe Leigh, Sheree Spataro. (Thanks also to Dawn, who suggested the revised sanctum scene.)


	12. Chapter 12

**_No Light Without Shadows_**

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Twelve**

Draco was so relieved as to be almost limp. He _was'nt_ pregnant. Since tomorrow was Hogmanay1, Sixth and Seventh Years had been allowed to go to Diagon Alley instead of just to Hogsmeade like the lower years. Draco had made a pretence to get away from Harry, and had gone to find one of the medi-witches who practised illegally in Knockturn Alley; he'd be recognised at the medical practice he and Harry had used before. He'd even gone so far as to colour-charm his hair, eyes, and skin to reduce the chance of being recognised.

It was a calumny that all the tradesmen and shoppers in Knockturn Alley were Dark: shady, perhaps – purveyers of goods and/or services which most folk don't speak of in polite society, but which are nevertheless needed from time to time – but not Dark. However, the more illegal items and services could also be found, if one knew where to look.

The medi-witches here were either too old to continue a full-time job at a legal medical establishment, or had been unable to be licensed for one reason or another. Those reasons could range from being caught in an unethical act, cheating on a test, or merely not being one hundred percent human . . . all the time.

Still, the scare had upset him. Draco needed to find a way to make sure he could continue having 'relations' with Harry without fear of pregnancy.

Harry found Draco strangely silent as they finished their shopping, volunteering little on his own, and answering questions mostly in monosyllables. But the blond was subject to these moods from time to time. They were usually short-lived, so Harry tolerated them.

When they got back to Hogwarts, the first thing Harry did was check on the egg. It was still warm and seemed to be doing fine, but showed no sign of hatching yet.

A week went by, and it seemed Draco had become rather more introspective and taken with absent-mindedness – or daydreaming: and since their visit to Diagon Alley, more irritable and impatient with any demands on his attention. However when he was asked, the blond refused to divulge the reason or reasons for his cantankerous behaviour.

This both puzzled and irritated Harry, and his own temper began to get shorter. Fortunately for Harry's temper, a couple of days later, a Saturday, the phoenix egg showed its first sign of hatching – a rather loud tapping sound.

Harry, of course, had researched everything he could find about phoenix hatchings and hatchlings, but it turned out that if anyone in the wizarding world knew more than the centaurs, they hadn't written it in any book that could be found in the Hogwarts library – even the restricted section, which he had perused with the help of his invisibility cloak.

So Harry had absolutely no idea how long it would take the phoenix chick to hatch. As a result, he immediately summoned a house elf and had a bowl of finely chopped fresh meat delivered to his room, as well as a small platter of minced vegetables and mashed berries, so the chick could choose what it liked. He then fetched Draco.

In retrospect, he might have wanted to reverse his priorities and have called Draco first. But he ignored his husband's bad temper, other than to hug the blond to him and lavish him with little pets and kisses as he anxiously watched the egg.

Three hours later, the beak finally broke through the shell. Draco was all for helping the chick get free, being impatient of any more waiting, but Harry had read that such 'help' was bad for the chicks of most birds, either making it a weaker bird, or actually killing it, and he assumed it would be true for a phoenix, too,2 so he restrained his mate while he explained this to him.

"Hmph!" was Draco's irritable response. "I'm going to take a bath; let me know if the bloody thing ever gets free."

Harry followed Draco's departing form with a puzzled, worried frown. He almost followed him into the bathroom to try to make him feel better – and would have, if he hadn't had to watch over the phoenix egg. When it was free, he had to feed it and tend to it. All the same, he felt a bit torn about the decision.

"Draco!" he called after the blond. When Draco stopped and turned to look impatiently at Harry, Harry softly said, "I love you," willing Draco to hear the truth of that statement. Draco's face softened, and his eyes became suspiciously shiny just before he turned and entered Harry's bathroom.

With Harry's declaration, despite how he'd been treating his husband, it was just now occurring to him that he needn't go through all this worry alone. Harry could help him research solutions! The relief of that realisation, as well as a little guilt for how he'd been treating Harry, was a bit overwhelming.

In the meantime, he'd continue to use 'the morning after' spell . . . just in case. He felt rather ridiculous using a spell on himself that was meant for sexually active females, but he wasn't about to take chances.

Harry stared at the egg, still wanting to go after Draco – then slapped his forehead. There was nothing whatsoever to prevent him from taking the egg with him! Suiting action to thought, he carefully gathered up the egg in its pot and the tray of food for the chick when it hatched, and took them into the bathroom, catching Draco just starting to take down his pants.

Draco stopped and raised an eyebrow at his husband.

"Don't let me stop you," Harry said with a grin. "I love a good strip show." But instead of watching Draco, he set about making a safe spot for his precious cargo in a corner of the bathroom.

"In front of the child?" Draco drawled.

"Mm... Too young to know what he's seeing – or care, likely," Harry replied. He loved Draco's dry sense of humour.

Draco skinned out of his pants, then walked over to Harry and pressed his naked body against Harry's clothed one, wanting to show his appreciation for Harry's support.

Their kiss was long, sensuous, and steamy.

When they parted, Harry groaned, his erection painfully hard with his excitement and desire. "Damn: this is so unfair. You can't wait for me?"

Draco reached up and started unbuttoning Harry's robe. He had prevailed upon the former Gryffindor to stop wearing muggle clothing under it – he was trying to acclimate his lover to wizarding ways – but Harry had yet to get used to wearing the under-robes he'd bought, so as each button came undone more skin was revealed, which Draco kissed as it became available. When it was loose enough, he slipped the robe off Harry's shoulders, and Harry let it slip to the floor, then quickly stripped his shoes, socks, and pants off, too. Draco pulled Harry after him into the steamy shower, and then cast "Nox" before setting his wand aside.

Harry was intrigued. They'd made love in the shower before, but not in the dark. Very interesting situation, he started to think, before Draco started sliding down his body. The blond laved Harry's erection with his tongue before moving on down to his husband's bollocks, licking them well and then sucking each egg-shaped orb into his mouth for a little extra attention. He loved hearing Harry's moans and the way his husband's hand moved through his wet hair, gently urging him on to greater efforts. Draco cradled the precious eggs in one hand as his tongue licked its way up the strong, fleshy column before him, and then swallowed half of Harry's erection, gently sucking and swirling his tongue around it.

When Draco had also swallowed Harry's come, Harry hauled his lover to his feet and kissed him fiercely, tasting his own ejaculate in the blond's mouth, at the same time reaching down to grasp Draco's length, alternately stroking it and playing with his husband's bollocks, gently grasping them just to the point of pain before he gentled them and moved back to Draco's cock, over and over again, also sucking on his lover's neck and ears, until the blond orgasmed, and then fell slowly to his knees, Harry's torso gently sliding from his grasp, until the side of his face was pressed into Harry's groin.

"Lumos," Harry incanted – without his wand, but the lights came up anyway. Harry stroked Draco's head until his lover had recovered, and then helped him to his feet, kissing him again. Harry just held Draco close under the spray of warm water for a long time – and then they heard a piece of eggshell break off.

"Sorry, love," Harry apologised as he scrambled to get out of the shower, and dry. "But it looks like the little one is just a tad impatient."

It actually took most of another hour before the chick was free of its shell, with Harry hovering over it, starkers, the whole time.

In spite of being slightly piqued, Draco had leisurely got out of the shower when he'd finished washing. He'd dried off, and even bent over with his buttocks practically in Harry's face, and got no reaction. He walked out in a huff, got dressed, then came back in and threw a robe at Harry. It had draped half over Harry's face, and he had just absently removed it, letting it fall to the floor, his gaze fixed raptly on the hatching egg. Disgusted, Draco wandered off to find something else to do.

"Draco! It hatched!" Harry's voice exclaimed from the bathroom some time later. He got no reply. "Draco?"

Harry walked out of the bathroom, carefully cradling the phoenix chick in one hand as he fed it from the handful of chopped meat and berries he'd hastily scooped up. The room was vacant. He walked over to the mirror/door and eased it open a crack, in case Draco had guests.

"Draco?" he called out when he didn't hear anything. Silence was his answer.

"Well," he said to the chick, closing the connecting door again, "seems _my_ bird has flown the coop." He occupied himself with feeding the chick in front of the fire for a time, thinking of the family he and Draco would have, and finally starting to worry about that development before his concentration was broken.

"For the sake of the gods, get some clothes on, Potter!" an irritated voice exclaimed.

"Professor!" Harry exclaimed. Remembering he was still naked, and that there was a clean robe on the floor in the other room, he dashed into the bathroom. A minute later Harry came back out, dressed in the robe Draco had thoughtfully brought him.

"May I introduce you, Professor, to a little custom that I like to call 'knocking'?" Harry sarcastically remarked. And why the hell hadn't the portal guardian kept the greasy git out – or at least announced him?

"Shut your gob, Potter. You'll want to go to the infirmary," Snape said.

"Yes?" Harry said defiantly, but sudden worry had made itself known.

"It's young Malfoy."

"Draco? What happened?" Harry demanded.

"If you can walk and talk at the same time, Potter," Snape growled.

Harry hadn't put shoes on, but he didn't even consider it as he pushed past his Head of House and started walking quickly in the direction of the stairs.

"Well?" he demanded again.

"He was tripped on the stairs."

"Who?"

"The matter is being taken care of, Potter."

**"Who?"** Harry asked again, concentrating on where he was going, not looking at the professor. His eyes had turned golden with the news of Draco being tripped. Now an electrical charge was quickly building up around him, his hair standing on end, sparks jumping from the tips. It would have been a comical sight, had the danger Harry represented at that moment not been so dire.

The chick Harry was still carrying peeped.

"Hell, yes! Of _course_ I'm angry," Harry replied without thinking, bounding up the stairs as he came to them.

It peeped again.

"Well, he's my husband!" Harry exclaimed. "And you know that!"

"Have you finally lost your mind, Potter?" Snape demanded.

"Then stop asking me stupid questions!"

"_I_ haven't asked _anything_, Potter," Snape said scathingly.

'Peep!'

Harry came to a brief stop as he gave the chick an intense look. It stared back at him. "Oh, bloody hell," was his decided opinion. "It's the bird."

'Peep.'

"Not now," Harry replied, again almost flying through the corridors. "I promise I'll talk to you later, but I'm in a bit of a hurry right now."

'Peep!'

When Harry didn't reply, it almost managed a screech.

"Damn! All right, then!" Harry said, coming to a stop. "You needn't yell like that."

Snape was watching Harry carefully, wondering if he really was communicating with the chick, or had lost his mind, as he suspected. The boy always _was_ too flighty... He winced at his unintentional mental pun.

Harry brought the chick up to eye level, and they stared into each other's eyes for several seconds. Then Harry seemed to get darker, became shadow-like, and disappeared.

"Potter! What are you playing at now?" Snape exclaimed. "Make yourself visible at once!" he demanded, when he got no reply. Nothing happened this time, either. Furious, he determined to give Potter a detention next he saw the infuriating brat, and continued on his way to the infirmary.

When he got there, he saw Potter perched on Draco's bed as Madam Pomfrey fussed over the blond and tried to get Harry to leave. It looked like Potter had been there for a few minutes already. How the bloody hell had he done that?

The chick was on the bed too, looking between the boys as they talked, Harry's head hovering disturbingly close to Draco's: too close for Snape's comfort level. And then Harry leant down and gently kissed Draco on the forehead. Snape sneered in distaste at the sight.

Draco had been pretty well bunged up. It was mostly bruises that were quickly fading with Pomfrey's spellwork, but there was a large goose-egg just above Draco's temple, and he'd suffered a sprain of one wrist. No broken bones, so he'd got off rather lightly, and his other injuries would be healed by the next morning. Indeed, Draco could have been killed if he'd fallen off the stairs entirely.

"Potter! Detention!" Snape snarled.

Harry's head whipped around. "For what?" he demanded.

"Not obeying a professor's orders, for a start," Snape replied stiffly.

"What orders?"

"To make yourself visible after you cast that invisibility spell, of course!"

"Professor," Harry said with exaggerated patience, "I did not cast an invisibility spell; I used a faster form of transportation."

'Peep?'

"Yes, I believe so," Harry said to the chick.

"What?" Draco asked.

"He asked if Snape could be trusted," Harry replied.

"Of all the bloody nerve!" Snape exploded.

"Well you can hardly blame him, Professor," Harry responded, trying to suppress a smirk. "He's only just hatched, after all, and has never you 'til now."

Draco snickered, and then winced as the movement aggravated his headache, which hadn't yet responded to the headache potion.

It turned out that there had been quite a few students on the stairs at the time of the incident, and Draco wasn't sure who had tripped him.

Madam Pomfrey kept Draco in the infirmary for another day just to make sure that his body was stable and that he hadn't suffered any cranial damage that had escaped her notice.

While Draco was there, Harry was also, as much as he could be. He'd been warned against skipping classes after the first few. And Draco unburdened himself of his doubts and fears to Harry regarding their future and hidden enemies. Harry told Draco of his, and they both reassured each other that they wouldn't do anywhere nearly as badly as they feared.

"Bloody hell," Harry swore quietly a few weeks later as he tried to struggle into his school robes.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Draco asked from Harry's bed. Although he always entered his own rooms at night – trying to be seen doing so as often as would be believable – his own bed was never slept in any longer.

Harry looked at his husband. He loved Draco's tousled, 'just shagged' look first thing in the morning. Not that he'd say so: Draco would throw a fit.

"I think I've grown again," Harry complained. "These things are too tight." But he just managed to fasten them. Although if he took a deep breath...

Draco looked him over. "Bloody hell, Harry, what have you been doing to yourself?" The change had to have been gradual, otherwise he was sure he would have noticed. And yet he felt he should have noticed Harry's clothing fitting him badly before now, if that was the case.

"What?" Harry asked, irritated. "They weren't this tight yesterday!" he said defensively.

"You _may_ have grown half an inch or so, but you've . . . filled out!" Draco exclaimed. "Your robe's too tight across the shoulders. So what have you been doing?"

Harry shrugged, embarrassed – and his robe split about eight inches down the seam between his shoulder blades. Harry winced at the sound, but his robe _was_ more comfortable, now.

"Ah . . . I've been taking a bit of exercise," Harry said, his cheeks a bit pink as he started taking off the ruined school robe. Maybe he shouldn't have had them tailored so close to his body.

"_Why?_" Draco asked, perplexed.

Scáthfánaí, the phoenix chick, strutted in. Due to the first thing the tiny phoenix had taught him, Harry had done a little research, and called him 'shadow rambler' (the Irish for 'shadow walker' being too cumbersome either in that language or any other Celtic language).

Most of Scáthfánaí's adult plumage had grown in by this time. All he was missing were his flight feathers and tail plumage. He was a Night Phoenix. The main body of the bird was a midnight blue, the feathers burnished with ice blue, as well as his head being that colour, as opposed to a fire phoenix' red and gold.

Scáthfánaí trilled at Harry. That, at least, wasn't different. Scáthfánaí and Fawkes sang essentially the same patterns, although their voices were slightly different.

"So this is your fault?" Harry said in response to the phoenix.

Scáthfánaí trilled a slightly different melody.

"What if I _wanted_ to take it slow?" Harry asked exasperatedly. "You could have at least asked me – or warned me!"

"Harry!" Draco exclaimed. "_I_ was talking to you first, if you don't mind!"

Harry turned a sheepish countenance to his husband. "Sorry, love."

"Now are you going to tell me why you've been – one would assume – working out and sweating like a ruddy barbarian?" the blond asked.

"Well if there's going to be a battle, I don't want to be too tired to move before it's half begun, do I?" Harry replied.

"So you've been building up your stamina?"

Scáthfánaí trilled.

"Don't be rude," Harry said to him as he used the charm Madam Malkin had taught him to enlarge another robe.

"And yes, I have been," he replied to Draco.

"What did that overgrown chicken say?" Draco asked, shooting an evil glare at Scáthfánaí.

Scáthfánaí squawked loudly at Draco.

"It's **not** bottle-blonde," Harry protested. And he should know, having just a bit earlier been down where hair coloration wasn't usually practised.

"Why you twice-dyed canary!" Draco exclaimed, getting to his feet and immediately going for the phoenix at a run. "I'll pluck you bare for that!"

Scáthfánaí squawked defiantly at Draco, and disappeared just as it appeared Draco would have him by the neck.

"Damn it!" Draco swore as he looked quickly around for his escaped prey.

"Draco!" Harry said, pretending shock at the blond's language, while he admired his lover's naked form.

Draco glared at him. "You _had_ to accept that damned egg, didn't you?" he accused.

Harry grinned at him. "Yep!" he said happily.

"If he hadn't taught you shadow walking..." Draco said in dire tones.

"_And_ jumping..." Harry added as he pulled on the enlarged robe. It had been good, thick wool, so it was still comfortable, but he might need to use a warming charm once in awhile until he could get new clothes.

"When's he going to teach you how to take a side-along?" Draco asked impatiently. "I want to go shopping!"

Harry glanced ruefully down at the ripped robe. "I don't think we'll need shadow jumping to go shopping, love," he said. "If I don't, I'm going to be out of uniform."

"D'you think you can talk Dumbledore into letting me tag along?"

"What are you needing?"

Draco grimaced. "Oh, just a few minor things. I could use more ink." Actually he just wanted a change of scenery, and shopping was a great way to do that, for him.

Scáthfánaí trilled from atop one of the wardrobes.

"He is not! He's the same size he's always been!" Harry exclaimed in response. "And stop being mean to him!"

"He said I look fat, didn't he?" Draco said mutinously, surreptitiously drawing his wand to him from the bedside table.

"Draco," Harry said warningly, "he's only teasing, you know."

"I won't kill him, Harry," Draco promised, "just pluck a few feathers to teach him some manners."

Harry looked sternly at him. "No."

Draco threw his wand on the bed, then petulantly threw himself on it as well.

Scáthfánaí, meanwhile, had quietly shadow-jumped to another portion of the room.

Harry's heart melted at the sight of his pouting lover, and went over to him, pulling Draco into a cuddle. "He's just at that 'bratty little brother' stage, love," Harry explained. "He should grow out of it in a few weeks."

Draco didn't stop pouting, but he did cuddle into Harry's arms.

"I swear, Harry," Draco complained, "sometimes I think you favour that blasted bird over me."

"Never, love," Harry said soothingly, placing a kiss on Draco's brow. "Having sex with him would be very awkward," he teased.

Draco hit Harry's shoulder hard for that remark. "So when are we going shopping?" Draco asked, a trace of impatience in his voice.

Harry laughed, and hugged Draco to him, hard. "We'll have to ask for special dispensation, first," he replied, "and you still need to get dressed!"

"It's not getting done sitting here," Draco informed him, but he was grinning, happy to have made Harry laugh, even if it was unintentional.

Harry was grinning, too. He knew that neither Scáthfánaí nor Draco really meant what they said – they just liked sniping at each other. It was too bad that Draco was at a disadvantage, not being able to understand the phoenix. It slowed him down, having to have Harry translate via his 'responses' to Scáthfánaí.

Snape actually made Harry put on the robe to prove he hadn't ripped it on purpose. Once Harry had, however, he passed them on to Dumbledore, who gave Harry permission to go, and gave Draco permission to accompany him – ostensibly as backup in case of trouble.

Actually Harry would be safer on his own, since he could shadow walk out of any dangerous situation. Since he hadn't yet learned how to take someone else with him, and since he'd never leave Draco alone in a dangerous situation, the blond would actually be more of a liability if there was danger. But Draco was the only person who knew of Harry's new ability, and Harry liked it like that. And since his lover wanted to go anyway...

But while they _were_ spotted at Madam Malkins', the Death Eater attack team that was finally assembled arrived in Diagon Alley just a little too late to execute their mission. The group created some mayhem and destruction anyway, since they were there, killing one and injuring several others, but they were _severely_ 'reprimanded' when they returned – via the Cruciatus Curse – for their failure to capture either of the boys.

Draco had been greatly admiring Harry's form when he was only partially clothed. While Harry did have a wider breadth of shoulder and deepness of chest, an abundance of obvious muscle had not come along with it. Oh, there was muscle in plenty, and whipcord strong, but it slid deceptively under the skin, presenting a smoothly sculpted look instead of being bulky. And yes, Harry had grown again – all in the leg, necessitating the ordering of more trousers, as well as the school robes, the latter of which could be delivered in only a few hours. The trousers would be another day or two.

Draco had discussed fabrics and styles with Madam Malkin and had taken some pictures with him when they left, but hadn't decided what to buy, yet.

Harry's longer legs and wider upper torso made Harry's waist look very narrow indeed, and Draco found the whole effect nearly breathtaking. Yes, Draco decided to himself, he was _very_ glad to be gay, if he could sleep next to that. He loved Harry, although he usually refrained from saying so – ostensibly for fear of Harry getting a large head – but he didn't mind in the least the bonus features that seemed to be developing.

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~o

1: Hogmanay : Scottish New Year's Eve (January 2nd)  
>2: This is true of mundane birds. Never 'help' one hatch.<p>

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~o

Betas: Dawn B., Sheree S., Ishe-Leigh (who also brainstorm with me on occasion). Brit-picker: Andy


	13. Chapter 13

**_No Light Without Shadows_**

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Thirteen**

Draco let Harry sleep in while he got ready for the day. Then he leaned over the bed and kissed Harry awake. He would have preferred to lay down next to his husband, but he was avoiding getting his robes wrinkled.

"Wake up, you great lummox," Draco said fondly.

"Mmm..." Harry hummed, his arms coming up to haul Draco down to him.

"We don't have time, Harry," Draco said with a little laugh, catching Harry's wrists and preventing the move. "We have classes, first thing. Now get up, or you'll miss breakfast. I'll meet you there."

Harry's pout was so cute. But the erection he put Draco's hand on was anything but. It could be described as powerful, sleek, beautiful, and a handful of other adjectives – but cute? Never.

Draco smiled to himself on the way up to the Great Hall. With the mood Harry was in, they'd have missed breakfast, and _at least_ their first class. And he had been _so_ tempted! In fact he had to stop in to an empty storage closet for a quick one off at the wrist before he could continue on to breakfast.

He sat at his usual place at the Slytherin table. It looked like Harry might not be the last one up. Over half of Slytherin was there, but it was mostly the younger years. Pansy and a few other upper years were there, though. And according to what he was overhearing, the pug-faced girl hadn't noticed his arrival. (Almost a shame, that – if Draco had been inclined that way. He had been sure she'd have grown out of those looks as she got older.)

Pansy, as usual, had her mouth flapping, although Daphne Greengrass, her audience, didn't seem to be paying much attention.

"I'm telling you, Daphne, it's such a waste!" Pansy proclaimed.

"What is?"

"Draco!"

"What of him?" Daphne asked, who had caught a glimpse of Draco over Pansy's shoulder. She didn't let on.

"Well, he's a pouf, isn't he?"

"Yeah. . . . So?"

"Well if he absolutely _must_ be queer, why does it have to be Potter he's with?" Pansy complained. "Mind you, I still think I'd be a much better match for him."

"You're missing vital equipment, Pansy, dear," Draco drawled.

"Oh!" Pansy exclaimed, quickly spinning in place to face him, her face turning an unlovely shade of red. "D-Draco. When did you get here?"

"Too soon, evidently," the blond replied dryly.

Pansy shot Daphne a glare, to which Daphne returned a sweet little smile – pure saccharine.

Bolstering her courage, Pansy turned back to Draco.

"Well, it's true!" she said defensively.

"Yes, it is," Draco agreed to her vague exclamation. Pansy started to preen, only to be brought down by Draco's next words, clarifying his statement. "You have nothing I want."

A few of those within earshot snickered at Draco's shot. Pansy shot a quick glare around her to let them know she didn't appreciate it – not that many paid her the slightest bit of attention.

Irritated, Pansy said, "Blaise says Potter's fucking you," in an attempt to gain a bit of revenge by revealing this bit of information in public.

"Blaise has a big mouth," Draco muttered.

"So it's true, then?" Pansy asked, a bit disgruntled by the apparent confirmation.

Draco shrugged. "Whether it is or not is none of _your_ concern, Pan-Pan," he said, using his childhood name for her, pointing out her childish behaviour.

Draco spotted Harry coming in the Great Hall doors – far too soon to have travelled that distance normally unless... No, Harry's hair was wet – almost dripping, as a matter of fact. So if he had showered, he must have shadow jumped to get here so soon. It _still_ must have been a very quick shower, though.

"But why Potter?" Pansy shrilled.

She had known he and Harry were together since they'd met at the train station. It was remarkable to Draco that he hadn't heard of her discontent on the subject before now – not that it mattered to him. But Draco merely bent his wrist in Harry's direction, pointing with a languid finger.

Pansy looked, as did almost everyone who had been paying attention, and not a few followed Pansy's lead when her jaw dropped open.

Although their school robes usually hid all but a vague outline of what was beneath them, Madam Malkin had been so taken with Harry's developing figure that she'd done some sewing magic (of the skill, rather than the occult variety), and Harry's outline wasn't _quite_ so vague as all that. That, plus Harry's now-shoulder-length hair brushed back behind his ears, made a **very** striking picture.

Draco picked up Pansy's napkin and pushed her jaw back up (he wasn't about to use his own for the purpose), and wiped up the bit of drool that had leaked out.

"I believe my reasons are self-evident?" Draco calmly remarked, tossing Pansy's napkin in her lap. True, Harry's present physique was a recent development, but it was easier to use that as his excuse than to try to explain the truth – not only the triple vow, but that Draco had been mastered by the other young man and had, against all sense, liked it.

Pansy, her eyes glazed, nodded dazedly – again copied by a couple of others within earshot.

Harry came up behind Draco and kissed his husband's neck. "G'morning, love," he whispered into Draco's ear. "Talking about me?"

"Harry!" Draco hissed. "How many times do I have to tell you: not in public?" Still, he couldn't quite keep the pleased smile from his face. A glance towards Pansy showed her still staring at his Harry, along with too many others.

"Sorry," Harry said as he seated himself, not sounding it in the least.

A retching sound from across the Hall caught Harry's attention. Ron. Harry caught the redhead's eye, then looked to the plate that had just appeared in front of him, dismissing the incident, and Ron, as unimportant.

Strange, though, that he hadn't thought of them in so long. Come to think of it, wasn't he supposed to have met Neville and a few others in Hogsmeade? What had happened to that?

Ah, yes. Draco's parents getting murdered, and the egg that had contained Scáthfánaí. It had been a very busy time. He'd have to see about extending an invitation to them to make up for it. Harry was mildly disappointed that he'd missed that meeting, but Draco had needed him more. And then the next Hogsmeade weekend had turned into a 'date' just for he and Draco alone. It had been very enjoyable, despite the teasing of some brave souls.

Scathi, as Harry had decided to call him, since Scáthfánaí's full name was a bit unwieldy, should be developed enough to accompany him now, too.

"Keep your eyes to yourself, Parkinson, and the rest of you lot," Draco said. "He's taken." Draco was trying to look calmly matter-of-fact, but his tense stance gave his jealous anger away.

Hm? Harry looked around, and found that quite a few people were staring at him. It wasn't a situation he was new to, but it was never one he'd been comfortable with. Today? Bugger them. Harry took Draco's hand, gave it a squeeze, and then continued with his meal: eggs fried in butter – almost deep fried, from the looks of them – lean bacon, bangers, fried tomatoes, and toasted bagels, which Harry preferred with butter and redcurrant jelly.

Draco, Harry noted, used clotted cream on his bagel, and although he had eaten at least a little of the lean bacon, Draco was carefully avoiding the more greasy fare.

Leaning close, Harry quietly murmured, "Queasy?"

Draco scowled at him, but didn't reply.

"We'll get you something better, later," Harry said in the same low tones.

Embarrassed, Draco whispered, "Shut it," but gave Harry's arm a grateful squeeze.

Harry slipped a bagel from his plate to Draco's – which promptly landed back on his own plate.

"If you're not going to eat those bangers, I'll have them," Harry said, spearing the sausages, and incidentally slipping the bagel back onto Draco's plate. This time it stayed, and a little while later, was being consumed.

"You're not eating?" Gregory said to Draco, finally showing up to table.

"And 'good morning' to you, too. Where's Vincent?" Draco asked in abrupt tones.

"He'll be along shortly," Greg said, sitting down.

"Bloody good bodyguards you lot make," Draco grumbled.

"Huh!" Greg said dismissively. "As if you need us any longer." Greg's plate appeared in front of him, which he promptly filled, and dug in.

Draco paled, and turned away from the sight.

Harry slipped Draco's stolen sausages to Greg.

"Thanks, mate," Greg said, hardly slowing down.

"I can't be with him all the time," Harry said quietly. "So in light of the 'accident' Draco suffered a few weeks ago, I'd appreciate it if you'd tighten it up a bit."

Greg shrugged as he stuffed yet another mouthful in his gob.

Harry caught Greg's arm as it was scooping another forkful. Several people held their breaths, as anyone who had tried that before had wound up with – at best – dislocated fingers or a sprained wrist. Even Draco had been chary of such an action.

Greg's eyes lit on Harry's hand, and traveled up to Harry's face. But instead of the expected mayhem, Greg paled, then nodded. "Sure, Harry. Sorry if we've been getting lax," he said.

"Thank you," Harry said quietly, then removed his hand from Greg's sleeve, and started mopping up the last of his egg.

A loud sigh was heard as many people let out pent-up breaths at the same time. Harry's reputation had just gone up yet another notch.

"Y- You're welcome," Greg said, gulping. He didn't think he'd _ever_ get used to looking into Harry's eyes when they went gold.

"You might want to eat up," Harry suggested. "Breakfast will be over, soon."

"S-sure..." Somehow, though, Greg seemed to have lost his appetite.

"I want it worked out between the three of us so that at least one of us is with Draco at all times," Harry said quietly.

"I'm not a child, Harry," Draco said rebelliously.

"You'd have had it if I weren't around, wouldn't you?" Harry asked.

"Not without Father . . . to enforce it," Draco replied quietly, his voice hitching a bit at the remembrance of his dead parents.

"Yes. Well, now you have me," Harry said firmly.

Draco didn't reply. He was still feeling a bit rebellious, but his cheeks were a bit pinked, too. With that one sentence, Harry had publicly laid claim to him, more or less stating that he'd taken Lucius' place as the person to whom Draco should look. It had been known that they were in a relationship, and Harry's claim may have been assumed before, but now it had been spoken. And Draco couldn't do anything about it without breaking things off with Harry – something he wasn't prepared to do – or something he was sure he _could_ do, even had he wished to.

"Bloody hell," Pansy breathed when the silence had stretched on beyond any reasonable limit, and Draco hadn't renounced Harry's claim on him.

Harry had been watching Draco's face, wondering about his lover's expression, but now his gaze shifted to Pansy.

"Likely, yes," he said, mild curiosity on his face.

"He's really yours?" Pansy asked Harry, glancing once at Draco to indicate whom she meant.

Draco's jaw tightened, but he didn't say anything.

"We're together, but you already knew that," Harry replied.

"But you've made . . . a commitment?" she asked.

Harry's cheeks pinked, now. "Oh. That," he said. Then after a second, he shrugged. "We've taken vows, if that's what you mean," he said.

"What sort of vows, Potter?" a harder voice broke in.

Harry looked carefully at the speaker. "What's your interest, Nott?" he asked.

"Answer the question," Theodore demanded.

"I don't think I will," Harry replied mildly. Under his breath, Harry cast "_Protego_" around Draco and him.

Harry thought that the only way Theodore would be demanding anything of him would be if he expected to intimidate him, or intended to attack him if his unvoiced 'or else' was defied. Harry didn't think Theodore was so egotistical as to believe _he_ could intimidate him, therefore Nott must be planning to attack.

Stymied, Nott stood and looked at Harry, nervously looked around, then with nothing to back him up but bravado, said, "You'll get yours, Harry Potter," and walked quickly away.

_Well,_ Harry thought, feeling a little foolish, _I never claimed to be infallible._ But Nott's attitude was waving a tiny red flag at him, and Harry made a mental note to keep a closer eye on the boy.

"What was that all about, then?" Vincent asked, finally strolling up.

Harry just rolled his eyes. "You explain it, Greg," he said as he removed the shield spell he'd cast earlier.

"And while you're about it," he continued, "you might tell Vince, here, how I feel about slackers."

"Yes, sir," Greg said, and shuddered.

Ignoring Vincent's inane questions, Harry said, "I'll expect the both of you at my rooms after classes – about four – so we can work out a schedule."

"Yes, sir," Greg repeated. Vince just looked confused.

"Just do your best for today," Harry instructed.

Draco had remained silent throughout all of this, but not uninterested. He was feeling a little humiliated, but it was fascinating to watch Harry work. And, of course, he'd had his wand hidden up his sleeve throughout the Nott incident, just in case it was needed.

Once they were out of the Great Hall, Harry asked, "What was all that 'sirring' about?"

"You _were_ rather throwing a lot of orders about, Harry," Draco replied.

"Was I?" Harry thought about it. "I suppose I was," he admitted. "Still," Harry went on after a short pause, "I wouldn't have expected him to react that way."

"You should be glad he did," Draco remarked. "You're going to need a power base."

Harry snorted. "While I'll admit that Vince and Greg are strong, I'd hardly think of them as the basis of a power base," he said. He had found that quite a lot of Draco's bodyguards' 'stupidity' was just an act, including their poor table manners, but the two _were_ rather greedy, and couldn't be classed as geniuses, either. They were, rather, of an average intelligence.

Draco shrugged. "You need a seed before a tree can grow," he remarked.

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "When did _you_ start getting philosophical?" he asked with a smile.

Draco threw him a disdainful glance. "Shows what _you_ know," he retorted.

Harry grinned fondly at him, pulling his lover to him for a quick side hug. Then they were at Draco's first class. Harry kissed Draco's brow, then went on to his own first class.

"This here, then," Hagrid said, waving a plate-sized hand towards a large, canvas-covered object, "is yer basic basilisk."

At that pronouncement there was at least one quickly-stifled scream, and quite a lot of muttering and uneasy movement. And if there had been the slightest hint of movement under that tarpaulin, Hagrid would have been looking at an empty field.

Seeming not to notice, Hagrid went on to say, "This'n's stuffed, o' course. Quite rare beasties, fortunately fer us. Our own 'Arry Potter killed this'n a couple years back. It were 'bout a thousan' years old 'r so at th' time." The half-giant beamed at Harry as he said that. Harry deliberately didn't notice.

"Now, I'm goin' t' remove the tarp'lin," he warned, "but ye needn't worry 'bout nuthin' – the eyes'r glass."

Even with Hagrid's warning and reassurances, there were even more screams when the huge snake came into view, and two pupils even fainted.

Harry found himself pale and tense as he viewed this old adversary from his past. But as he continued to regard it, he found the fear and apprehension fading quickly into the past, along with the dead basilisk. This wasn't a basilisk any longer, anyway; it was just a stuffed skin. The taxidermist had even reattached the fang that had broken off in his arm.

Harry unconsciously rubbed the spot.

One nod had been made to Harry's past with this basilisk, though; a replica of the Sword of Gryffindor was sticking up through the top of the basilisk's mouth and out the top of its skull.

After most of the class had recovered from their fright, Hagrid continued his class, delineating every known fact about basilisks in general, and taking great relish in reciting Harry's history with this one in particular.

The fearful, respectful, and even admiring glances that were sent Harry's way weren't lost on him, but he didn't acknowledge them. He'd only done what he had to do at the time.

After the class, Harry approached Hagrid.

Looking at the large snake, Harry asked, "When did his happen, then?"

"Ol' Dumbledore had it commissioned," Hagrid replied.

Harry nodded. Of course. It _would_ be, wouldn't it? Still, he couldn't complain. It wasn't _his_ basilisk after all, even though he did feel a bit proprietary towards it.

"Took most'a time 'tween then and now to get the work done, an' that was after Perfesser Snape had a go at it," Hagrid said. "Not e'en t' skin's real. Jus' t' skull and bones, most o' 'em."

"Harvested some parts, did he?" Harry inquired, knowing full well that if the skin was still whole, it was only because someone had been there beating the potions master off it.

"Aye," Hagrid replied simply. "Took 'im three months o' steady work, too. Dumbledore sent t' skin off t' be tanned an' made inta battle robes 'n' such."

Harry nodded, his mind racing. He had been needing a place where he could practice some of the less savoury magic he was learning without danger of discovery or interruption. The Chamber of Secrets, now that the basilisk corpse was out of it, would be ideal. And he was going to make sure . . . well, _try_ to make sure that two of those battle robes were for Draco and him.

"No sign of other basilisks down there, then?" Harry asked.

Hagrid gave a short bark of a laugh. "You c'n be sure ol' Dumbledore made sure o' _that_ afore he 'lowed anyone down there."

"How _did_ they get down there?" Insofar as Harry knew, there was only the one entry, in the abandoned girl's bathroom, and that one required Parseltongue be spoken to open it.

"Through t' outside tunnel, o' course." Suddenly Hagrid looked a bit apprehensive.

"Oh. I should'n 'ave said that," Hagrid said. "Yeh won' say I tole ya, will yeh 'Arry?"

At Harry's reassurance that Hagrid's slip was safe with him, Hagrid relaxed, and said, "Anyway, great beastie like that'n 'ud need more'n rats to feed up on, eh? _'Course_ it had access t' Forest."

"So it just nested down there?" Harry asked.

"Dumbledore figgers it was only there 'cause Tom called it," Hagrid said conspiratorially.

"So it wasn't nesting there?"

"Naw," Hagrid said, waving off the suggestion. "Too wet, I'm thinkin'."

"Hm . . . Thank you, Hagrid," Harry said. "A very interesting class. I'm afraid I have to dash, though. Draco's expecting me."

Hagrid shook his head wonderingly. "'T's a wonder t' me how you'n he wound up together, 'Arry, after all those years o' scrappin'."

Harry gave him a faint grin and a shrug. Then with a wave, he ran off. As soon as he was fairly sure he wouldn't be seen, and he'd found a suitable shadow, he shadow jumped.

He was only seconds later than he would have been, and found Draco waiting rather impatiently in the corridor.

"Boo!" Harry said quietly in Draco's ear.

The blond jumped. Then, annoyed, he turned and poked Harry in the chest. "Very amusing, Mister Ghost," he said. "Where were you?"

"Renewing old acquaintances," Harry said with a wry grin.

"Who?" Draco demanded to know.

Harry's grin faded as he said, "That basilisk from second year. Dumbledore had it stuffed, and Hagrid used it in class."

Draco looked intrigued. "Any chance I could have a look?" he asked.

Harry frowned slightly at his lover's interest, then shrugged. "Come on, then," he said, taking Draco's hand and leading the way.

Even though they were out where anyone could see, Draco wanted nothing more than to huddle into Harry's arms as he looked at the stuffed basilisk.

Hagrid had to uncover it again, but seeing that it was Harry who asked...

"You . . . fought that thing – when we were only twelve?" Draco marveled. "And to think of all the times I twitted you..."

"And insulted, and bunged up, and—"

Draco smacked Harry's arm, shutting him up. "All right!" he said, blushing a bit.

That night Harry received a visitor. Draco was there, too, but Blaise had no interest in his erstwhile friend.

"There you are!" Blaise said rather inanely.

"What can I help you with, Blaise?" Harry asked.

"It's that bloody redheaded friend of yours!" Blaise exclaimed.

Harry assumed a sorrowful look. "Didn't work out? I'm so sor—"

"It worked out fine," Blaise revealed, to Harry's – and Draco's – -surprise. "But how do you get rid of the twit?"

Harry broke out laughing. "You mean he actually went for it?" he asked incredulously. "Then what's wrong?"

"He's a bloody peasant, is what's wrong," Blaise revealed.

This time it was Draco who broke out in peals of laughter. "I could have told you that _years_ ago!" he chortled.

Blaise ignored Draco, and complained, "His table manners are atrocious, and he won't even _try _to improve them, he ruins all the clothing I buy him – I thought it was just because his family was poor! – and he snores! Not only that, but he bloody **snorts** in his sleep! He's a boor! And lazy! And his idea of conversation is that bloody Quidditch team he so adores!"

"The Chudley Cannons?" Harry suggested.

"The very one!" Blaise agreed. "So how do I get rid of him?"

"You might try insulting his family," Draco suggested dryly. "It's always worked for _me_."

"But I rather like the rest of the family," Blaise admitted. "They're a bit common, but they're good-hearted sorts. It's only Ron I can't stand."

"What about the twins?" Harry asked with a grin. So far he agreed with Blaise, though.

"Oh. Them," Blaise said dismissively. "Get past their bag of tricks, and they're rather amusing, really."

"Do _they_ know you've been dating their Ronniekins?" Draco asked with mischievous glee.

Blaise looked a bit uncomfortable at that. "Not really, no," he admitted. "We've been passing each other off as just a new friend. Ron's idea, actually."

Harry snorted – in a genteel fashion, of course. "He would," he remarked. "But the two of you – you've actually . . .?"

Blaise nodded, not in the least bit fazed to reveal intimate details. "That was the only good thing about him. He rode my cock like a champion!"

Harry's eyebrows tried to reach his hairline, and then both he and Draco lost it, laughing like a pair of loons.

Blaise waited it out, his arms crossed, tapping one foot impatiently. Finally he said, "If you two are _quite_ through making light of my pain?"

"Besides which," Blaise continued unwisely, "I'd bet you could say the same of Draco."

Suddenly he found himself held by the throat, his toes just making contact with the floor, and looking into a _very_ angry pair of gold eyes.

"_Urgle,_" he said.

"Harry," Draco said conversationally, "I believe he said 'urgle'. Isn't that foreign for 'I can't breathe'?"

"It might be," Harry agreed through gritted teeth. "But isn't he turning just the most _interesting_ colours?"

"Quite," Draco agreed. "Still, I'd rather not have to stop in to Azkaban to see you. I haven't a thing to wear that would fit in, there."

"There _is_ that," Harry said, slowly lowering Blaise to the floor. The boy had no strength in his legs, and wound up seated on his calves.

Blaise stared up at Harry with wide-open eyes as he tried to get his breath back. It had been so _fast!_ He had hardly seen Harry move. And Harry had only used one arm, and that one hadn't even trembled with the effort it must have taken, insofar as he could tell. Of course he'd been fighting to breathe at the time, so he mightn't have noticed.

"Are you all right?" Harry finally asked when Blaise' efforts to breathe eased up. He didn't sound all that concerned, actually.

Blaise nodded, saving his efforts for drawing in more air. He had never before quite appreciated how wonderful breathing could be.

"I suggest you not dwell on my or Draco's private life, in future," Harry said.

Blaise nodded again, a bit more energetically this time.

Harry went back over and sat next to Draco, then looked at Blaise, who had yet to try to rise.

"As for Ron," Harry continued as though nothing untoward had happened, "I'm afraid you're on your own. Perhaps if you show yourself around the school with other dates, he'll get the hint. I doubt he'll be too broken up, as he probably has a chit on the side."

Blaise nodded yet again, a hint of gratitude for the suggestion in his eyes, despite the _very_ deep respect – aka fear – that Harry had just inspired in him.

"It's been a nice interlude, Blaise," Harry said. "It's too bad you must leave so soon."

Blaise took the hint.

"Draco," Harry said musingly after Blaise had gone, "what the hell am I becoming?"

o~~~~~~~~~o~~~~~~~~~o

A/N: Draco and Pansy scene suggested by 'Lightning Strike'.

Betas: Sheree S. Brit-picker: Andy


	14. Chapter 14

**_No Light Without Shadows_**

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Fourteen**

"You want to do _what?_" Draco asked incredulously.

"I want to look at the Chamber of Secrets," Harry repeated patiently.

"Once wasn't enough?" Draco looked as though he thought Harry had gone 'round the twist. He knew if _he_ would have had to fight a bloody monster, he'd never want to go near the place again.

"I already told you there aren't any more basilisks down there," Harry said.

"Why?"

"Because they're very rare?" Harry replied, not sure which subject was being discussed now. "I expect the one was only there because of Slytherin . . . or Riddle."

"No! Why do you want to go back down there?" Draco exclaimed impatiently, clarifying his question.

"Can you think of a better place to practice our spellwork?" Harry asked.

Draco opened his mouth to name off half a dozen places that would be better suited, but his memory chose that moment to turn traitor, and he couldn't think of a single one.

"It's quiet; nobody is going to interrupt us there," Harry said, ticking off points on his fingers. "It's shielded; magic won't be detected – or so I assume, since Tom must have had a practise area – as well as working with that basilisk. And we can get away from everyone when things get too crazy for us!"

Harry seemed especially pleased by that last one.

Draco looked into his husband's eyes and sighed. "How do we get there?" he asked resignedly.

**. . . **

_"Open,"_ Harry hissed at the snake engraving on the correct sink in the almost-abandoned girl's toilet. As before, the sinks moved, and revealed a hole in the floor.

Peering down it, Draco said, "Over my cold, dead body."

"It's rather fun, really," Harry cheerfully said, trying to persuade him.

"Absolutely not," Draco said firmly, backing off from the opening. "Besides which, it's filthy!"

"You're not up on your cleaning spells by now?" Harry teased.

"That's what house elves are for," Draco replied, glaring at his husband. "I am _not_ going down that hole!"

Draco backed suspiciously away from Harry when his husband approached him, but then let Harry take him in his arms and kiss him. When the blond finally relaxed, Harry picked him up off his feet, and jumped into the hole.

A furious, wailing, drawn-out "Harry . . .!" came up from its depths.

**. . . **

"I am _never_ going to trust you again!" Draco fumed as he tried to put his robes back in order. It had taken him a minute to be able to pry himself from his husband and be sure his legs would hold him, but then he acted as though he'd never been frightened at all, and was just very, _very_ perturbed.

Harry had, of course, cast 'Lumos' soon after they'd landed at the bottom. He had used his illegal wand, and the area was lit more brightly than daylight.

"Look at this!" the blond demanded of Harry. "They're ruined!" While Draco's robes had, indeed, been quite soiled by the slide and landing, the dirt wasn't anything that a good wash wouldn't fix. And Harry was a bit worse off, actually, since he'd tried to protect the blond on the way down.

"At least someone got rid of all the rat skeletons," Harry said. He would have rather the skeletons had been there. The landing had been a lot harder with nothing to cushion their exit from the steep slide the tube turned into. And the fact that he'd tried to cushion Draco's landing hadn't helped his own situation at all. He'd have to look into what sort of spell he could find to either cushion their exit, or slow them down before they got there. Come to that, how had Slytherin exited the place? Surely there were stairs?

"Rat skeletons?" Draco exclaimed. "Oh, that's just the last straw, that is," he said in exasperation, ignoring the fact that there were, in fact, no skeletons of any sort in sight.

"They've cleared the rock fall, too," Harry noted, ignoring his husband. He hadn't been looking forward to clearing the rocks himself, and was glad it wasn't now necessary. He wondered who Dumbledore had entrusted with all the work. He already knew Snape had been down there to harvest parts from the basilisk, and Dumbledore himself would have wanted a first-hand look: but who else? Probably a few select members of the Order of the Phoenix, he decided. Considering one or two of Hagrid's remarks, the half-giant had probably been among them.

"Rock fall?" Draco exclaimed loudly.

"Keep your voice down," Harry cautioned. "Whoever Dumbledore had down here probably cast stability charms on everything, but if not..."

"And you want me here why?" Draco hissed.

"To cheer me up, of course," Harry said facetiously, with a teasing smirk.

That didn't help Draco's mood at all, but he fumed silently.

A trilling hit their ears as Scathi strolled out of a shadowy corner.

"That's good to know," Harry replied. He had been a bit surprised to have Scathi turn up, but with the phoenix' penchant for shadow walking, not all _that_ surprised.

Draco stubbornly refused to ask, or even to look interested.

"Scathi says the rock formations are perfectly stable," Harry said anyway.

"And what would a _bird_ know of rock formations?" Draco asked scathingly.

Harry shrugged. It was a good question, but he trusted his familiar. Scathi knew things he probably shouldn't, especially since he was only a few weeks old. Harry wondered about that, but so far Scathi hadn't been forthcoming. He picked the young phoenix up and put him on his shoulder.

"Come on," Harry said, trying to take Draco's hand.

Draco snatched it away from Harry's grasp, glaring. But when his dark-haired lover moved off down the tunnel, he followed – just for the light, of course. Draco had thought to spite Harry and remain there, but his own wand – his own _power_ – wouldn't create anywhere near the light, and would leave far too much dark area in which something could sneak up on him.

Someone had closed the heavy, snake-lock door, and it had reset itself. Harry was glad the mistake, if it had been a mistake, had been made _after_ the other cleanup had been done. He opened it, and they continued on into the main chamber. Harry cast "Lumos" at the perimeter of the huge space, and permanent torches flared up, lighting the entire space.

"Oooo..." said a familiar, lisping voice. "It's quite interesting down here, Harry."

"Myrtle?" Harry said, surprised.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice, Harry?" she asked a bit petulantly. "You come into my bathroom, and you kiss _him_. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

"I didn't think you were there, Myrtle," Harry said.

"No," Myrtle said self-pityingly. "Nobody _ever_ sees poor Myrtle, do they?" The fact that she'd been spying, and invisible at the time, meant nothing to her.

"Harry," Draco said, attempting to break into the conversation, but was interrupted.

"I haven't been down here before," Myrtle commented, ignoring Draco's presence. "I was always too afraid of that big snake. That was the basilisk, wasn't it?" She didn't sound like she expected a reply, though.

Harry made the introductions. "Draco, this is Myrtle. She was the first one killed by the basilisk the first time the Chamber was opened."

"Myrtle, this is my husband, Draco."

"I know _him_," Myrtle sniffed disdainfully. "He used to tease me."

"Draco?" Harry said questioningly.

"It was back in second year, Harry," the blond said, defending himself. "But where—"

Harry nodded. He understood that people change, and that Draco – _likely_ – had outgrown such behaviour.

"You married him?" Myrtle asked Harry, again interrupting the blond, and ignoring that anything else might be going on.

"Yes," Harry replied to her. He wasn't about to explain the situation to a ghost for whom he had so little respect.

"You might try apologising, you know," Harry told Draco gently. Respect or no, he didn't want her upset with Draco. With so much water down here, she could make things difficult.

"To a _ghost_?" Draco protested.

"No, we can't be having that, can we?" Myrtle whinged. "Old moaning Myrtle doesn't have feelings, does she? She's just a ghost."

"Draco!" Harry said reprovingly.

Draco frowned, then faced the ghost. "I'm terribly sorry to have caused you distress when I was younger, Miss Myrtle," he said.

Suddenly the ghost of the girl was right up in Draco's face. "I'll bet you aren't, really," she said spitefully. "You're just saying that because Harry told you to." The 'to' turned into a moaning wail, and suddenly Myrtle sped off.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed tiredly. "I hope she's not going to be hanging around us, down here," he said.

Scáthfánaí trilled.

"Yes, that was a ghost," Harry replied, "although there are others that are more pleasant to be around."

"What is with her, anyway?" Draco asked.

Harry winced. "I think she developed a bit of a crush on me, second year," he admitted.

"I don't think she's got over it," Draco said dryly.

"Well she knows _you and I_ are together now, so hopefully she'll move on," Harry said.

"It's awfully damp down here, Harry," Draco said, abruptly changing the subject. He felt immensely silly, feeling jealous about a ghost's affections for Harry.

"Mm..." Harry murmured in agreement. "But I can't believe that it was meant to be," he added.

Looking around, Draco had to agree. The architecture and stone carvings argued that people would have spent significant time down here. And even if it was only for a few hours a day, like the Great Hall, it still should have been a comfortable place to spend time.

"Where did you fight that thing?" Draco inquired, finally getting the question asked.

"All over the flipping place," Harry replied, annoyed by the memory.

Draco paid no attention. "Then where did you kill it?" he asked.

Harry looked around. "Right about here, I think," he said thoughtfully. "I almost died right here, too. Would have, if Fawkes' tears hadn't saved me."

Draco wished he hadn't asked, as chills ran up and down his spine. He moved off a few feet in a subconscious attempt to try to leave the area where it had happened.

"Let's inspect the rest of the place," Harry suggested. "We can look into what can be done to dry it out later, when we've more time." A sudden thought struck him. "You're supposed to have water abilities," he said to Draco, "d'you think you might be able to do something here?"

"I'm not trained yet either, Harry," Draco said, but he looked intrigued with the idea. Then he shook his head regretfully, dismissing it. "But by the time either of us had enough training and control to do the job, I'm sure we could have found another way and had it long done."

"_I_ don't have water abilities," Harry pointed out.

"Perhaps not, but you might be able to evaporate it with heat," Draco suggested.

Harry thought about it. Then, looking around at all the water, he said, "That would be a **lot** of heat, Draco. Maybe too much. And where would the steam go?"

Draco gave a little shrug, dismissing Harry's objection.

They wandered around, poking into all the tunnels, although they didn't explore down each one more than a couple of hundred feet, where it was possible. Some of them, like the entrance from the girl's bathroom, took off at a steep angle almost right away. And from the looks of it, it would take a long time to explore each one thoroughly. Finally they'd poked into each one to the extent they were able or had set themselves.

"Can we get out of here now, Harry?" Draco asked tiredly.

"Just one more place to look, love," Harry replied gently.

"Where?" Draco asked with asperity.

Harry walked up to the gigantic bust that everyone assumed to be Salazar Slytherin – the one from whose top he'd fought the basilisk – and hissed at it. _'Speak to me Salazar Slytherin, the greatest of the Hogwarts Four.' _The mouth opened, just as it had when Tom Riddle's past self had. Tense, half expecting another basilisk to slide out of the opening, Harry slowly relaxed when nothing else happened.

"Harry?" Draco questioned, having noticed Harry's reaction.

"Bad memories. The basilisk came out of here, the last time," Harry explained.

Draco was incensed. "Oh, yes. Thank you _very_ much! Don't warn _me_ or anything. After all, I'm- oomph!"

Harry had shut Draco up in his favourite way – with a kiss. Slowly, Draco relaxed.

But when Harry broke the kiss, Draco warned, "And don't you think _that's_ going to get you off the hook, either."

Harry kissed him again, longer, slower.

This time Draco sounded a little dazed as he said, "Or that one, either." But he put a hand up, preventing Harry from carrying out a third assault on his senses, then pushed away from him.

Straightening his robes, Draco visibly pulled himself together and said, "Let's get this over with, shall we?" He drew his wand, and waited for Harry to lead the way. But he stayed close as Harry crossed the threshold of the mouth-cum-door – not only for his own safety, but to give Harry backup if needed.

On the other side was a long corridor lined with unlit torches, which lack Harry promptly remedied. As the torches flared to life Harry saw, to his relief, that there wasn't anything lying in wait for them here, either. Except for about the first ten feet of corridor, this area was dry, and the floor had a thick layer of dust and decayed straw on it, except for a wide, irregular path down the middle: the trail the basilisk had created, Harry assumed. Fortunately for his peace of mind, even that trail had a thin layer of dust over it that had only been disturbed by booted feet, the imprints of which were themselves now becoming blurred, and were presumably created by Dumbledore and crew.

Harry was surprised to find a counterweight system on the other side of the door which manually opened and closed the door they had come through. It was a logical safety system though, since Parselmouths were very rare. It also answered the question of how Dumbledore and crew had been able to enter the Chamber.

About forty feet along the corridor was a short offshoot, at the end of which was an open doorway. Cautiously they approached it and peered around the corner. Except for the light from the corridor, the interior was dark. But what could be seen . . . Again there was a thick layer of dust, but there were no trails through it, not even of booted feet. They had come up to the doorway, but hadn't gone past it. Pieces of broken furniture could be seen in the faint light that reached through the doorway from the torches in the corridor. Casting Lumos on his wand again, Harry pushed it past the doorway. The same devastation could be seen throughout that room. There had been tapestries, but they had been ripped and torn. A few still tried to hold onto the wall, either by tatters, or only by one corner, but most were huddled on the floor.

"What happened here?" Draco breathed as he followed Harry inside.

"A fight?" Harry suggested.

"Or a mob," Draco agreed.

Scathi gave a low trill.

Draco looked to Harry questioningly.

Harry shook his head. "He doesn't know either, but he says there are traces of Dark magic, here."

"You didn't expect me to go down without a fight, did you?" a gruff voice asked impatiently.

Both boys whipped around to face the source of that voice, wands poised to defend themselves. Scathi had to flap his wings and scramble to keep his footing on Harry's shoulder.

"Who are you?" Draco demanded of the ghostly image floating there.

"You both wear my House colours, and you have the gall to ask me that?"

"Salazar Slytherin?" Harry asked incredulously. Well that negated the theory that the bust the door was in was Salazar Slytherin, although it also begged the question of the magical pass-phrase. There was no resemblance. Salazar had been a short, muscular, thickset man. His age when he died was indeterminate, but his moustache and thick shock of hair had been white. He had an air of pride and nobility about him, all the same.

"None other, boy. What year is it?"

After being told, the ghost said, "Only fifty years, this time. Seems longer."

"Fifty years?" Harry said. "Then you knew Tom Riddle?"

"I talked to him, yes. A peck and a half short of a bushel, that one. Wanted 'the secrets of power and immortality'. Hmph! Didn't bother to come back once I told him there were no such secrets." The ghost's gaze sharpened on the boys. "And who are you two?"

"Sorry, sir," Draco said. "I'm Draco Malfoy, and this is Harry Potter."

Salazar looked surprised. "A Malfoy and a Potter? And bonded?"

"How did you know that?" Harry asked.

"I can see it, boy," the ghost replied impatiently. "Just as I can see that you both have quite strong demon abilities; and you," he said to Harry, "have a block on your magic, preventing you from reaching your full potential."

"It was removed!" Harry protested, just before he recalled that it hadn't been _fully_ removed.

"Then it was a botch job, because you're still blocked," Salazar replied. He frowned. "Something strange there, too. Can't make out what it is," he added.

"Do you know how it _can_ be removed?" Harry asked. He wasn't going to waste time asking about the 'something' that Salazar had seen, since the ghost had already said he didn't know what it was.

"I might, at that," Salazar said. "But surely you don't expect _me_ to give you something freely? I've a task for you."

"What can I do for a ghost?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"I'm confined to these rooms. Find a way to free me, and I'll help you."

"Do you know how to train demon skills?" Draco asked.

"Have they lost _that_ out there, too?" the ghost almost roared.

Unconsciously, Draco huddled back against Harry, before remembering himself and standing straight, proudly defiant. "Yes, they have," he replied. "We have books, but..." Draco shrugged, leaving the sentence unfinished. He was sure _Salazar Slytherin_ would understand that training oneself from a book was a poor second to learning from someone who had first-hand knowledge and experience.

"You were surprised that Draco and I were together," Harry reminded the ghost. "Why?"

"Long-time rivals, in my time," Salazar revealed. "When did that change?"

Harry gave a wry grin. "When Draco and I got together," he admitted. _And even that was a bit . . . tumultuous,_ Harry admitted to himself. Being with Draco felt so natural now, their former relationship seemed a bit surreal when he recalled it. Not that there wasn't an edge to their interactions from time to time anyway...

Salazar let out with a great, booming laugh.

"So what happened to you, sir?" Harry asked.

Salazar gave a thunderous frown. "I'm prevented from relating my tale," he said.

"You did say you fought your attackers?" Harry prompted.

"And that's all I can say," Salazar growled.

"What colours did they wear, sir?" Draco asked, trying to ascertain the knowledge in another way.

After trying several times to answer, Salazar was finally able to say to Harry, "Your phoenix has rather rare colours, boy. The fiery ones are more common."

"Red and gold," Harry said.

Salazar was silent, but his expression said volumes.

"_They_ killed you?" Draco asked, aghast.

Salazar remained silent, but frustration painted his face.

"He can't say, love," Harry said. "But I'd say it was likely."

"Superstitious arseholes and their views of what constitutes acceptable magic," the ghost grumbled. At that time Christianity was making inroads into the magical community, and the religion's narrow views had outlawed a lot of things that had once been commonplace. He, of course, had paid them no attention, and had continued with the old ways. Eventually he had been hunted down and killed for 'consorting with demons', rather than killing them.

Salazar would have been gratified to learn that the religion had lost sway when King James and his successors had used it to make war on 'witches' (political enemies, in truth, rather than true witches and wizards, although it made things a bit difficult for them for a couple of centuries), and was now rarely followed by magic users.

"So how did a Potter wind up in Slytherin?" Salazar asked, changing the subject.

Harry told most of the tale of the past nine months or so, with Draco chipping in tiredly from time to time.

Before Slytherin could ask another question, Harry slipped in one of his own.

"I need a place to practice some Dark spells and curses, sir. I was thinking the Chamber outside would do nicely. And now here are your apartments where we could rest – with your permission?"

"I'm all for a body learning all they can, boy, but why down here?" the ghost asked gruffly.

"The Dark Arts have rather fallen out of favour, sir," Draco said darkly. "Being found to be practising them can result in a quick trip to Azkaban for rather a prolonged stay."

Salazar scowled. "Azkaban. New prison, isn't it? Riddle said as much, but so much of what he said made so little sense, I discounted it."

"I'm afraid it's true, sir," Harry said. He realised that to Slytherin, Azkaban probably _was_ new.

"So if it's so risky to learn, why are you willing to take the chance?" the ghost demanded.

"Riddle, sir. If you thought he was half barmy before..." Harry let the sentence go.

Completely 'round the bend now, eh?" Slytherin surmised.

"Yes, sir. And murderous with it."

"And you're volunteering?"

"Not exactly, sir," Harry said with a grimace.

"So why are they sending a boy after him?"

That necessitated yet another, and longer tale – the story of Harry's life, in fact – but before he had fairly begun, Draco began fidgeting, then transfigured a broken stool into an armchair. He pushed Harry into it, then sat on Harry's lap.

Salazar scowled at the interruption, then his expression softened. "I hadn't noticed," he said. "So you're not only bonded, but lovers, eh?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said. Draco had laid his head on Harry's shoulder and was half asleep, despite his interest in the founder of Slytherin House. Well, their love-making last night _had_ been rather more athletic than usual.

It had been centuries, but one of Salazar's own grandsons had become handfasted to a neighbour's boy, and had fathered a daughter. Salazar had always regretted being killed before he saw her grow up. But as he watched the two, the Potter boy holding his lover safe, he noticed the Dæmentelin signet ring for the first time. He hadn't expected to find a schoolboy as a Family Head, so hadn't been looking for signs of rank.

"You are the Dæmentelin head?" he asked Harry.

Harry nodded, and showed Salazar his other two signet rings as well.

Salazar sighed. The boy his grandson had married had been of the House Dæmentelin. He wasn't interested in the other two. If they had existed in his time, they had been minor families, indeed.

As a matter of fact the Potter family hadn't developed its own insignia until after the parent family, the Dæmentelin family, was long gone. So while Salazar knew of the Potter family, he wasn't familiar with the insignia.

"You're welcome here, boy," he said in a fit of nostalgia.

Looking around, Harry decided to try to press his luck. "Would it be all right if I brought in a couple of house elves to clean and renovate?" he asked.

Salazar chuckled. "You've a nerve, _you_ have, boy. But yes, that might be a pleasant change."

Fixing his mind on Dobby, Harry called for him. A couple of seconds later, the house elf popped in, obviously surprised by his surroundings.

"Yes, Master Harry, sir?" Dobby said.

"How are things going at home, Dobby?" Harry asked.

"We is needing yet to get the cellar and attic done, Harry Potter, sir, but the rest of your house is being done with cleaning and fixing," Dobby reported.

"Very good, Dobby," Harry said warmly, causing Dobby to grin with pleasure. "But we can let the cellar and attic go, for now. Right now, I'd like you and . . . Skiph, I think it is, to clean up these apartments. Save and repair what you can."

"This," Harry went on, indicating Salazar's ghost, "is Salazar Slytherin. These used to be his rooms when he was alive. Take his suggestions into account, but if you have any questions or you think I might disapprove, find me in my rooms, here."

"Yes sir, Harry Potter, sir," Dobby replied, looking around. If he was the least bit dismayed by the scope of the job, he didn't show it. "Dobby may go now, sir?" Dobby asked. "I is needing to get Skiph, sir."

"Certainly, Dobby. And thank you," Harry said before again turning to the ghost. He paid no attention to Dobby's popping out.

"Mister Slytherin—"

"I think we can wait for further discussion, boy," the ghost interrupted. "You need to see to him, now," he said, indicating Draco, who was having to force his eyes to stay open, now.

Harry sighed and nodded, grateful to the ghost. "Thank you, sir," he said.

"I'm fine," Draco protested, but he had to admit, if only to himself, that he'd welcome a lie-down.

"Scathi," Harry said to his phoenix, ignoring his lover's protestations, "will you _please_ teach me how to take Draco with me, now?" He had been asking ever since Draco had first mentioned the possibility. Scáthfánaí had admitted that it could be done, but had refused to tell Harry how, just for the fun of frustrating Draco.

The phoenix, who had been been silently watching all the goings-on with intent interest, gave a soft trill, then jumped off the top of the chair where he'd perched, flapping his wings for balance, and climbed onto Draco's lap so he could look Harry in the eyes. Draco looked his irritation at being used as a perch, but in the interests of being able to accompany Harry to more places, kept his peace.

Almost a minute later, Harry nodded. "Thank you, Scathi," he said.

"You do know that 'Scathi' means 'scathing', don't you?" Salazar asked, amused.

"No, sir, I didn't," Harry replied, also amused due to the mock fights Scathi got into with Draco. "His name's Scáthfánaí, but that's a bit unwieldy for everyday use."

"'Shadow Rambler'? A fitting name, for a Night Phoenix."

"Thank you, sir. And now I'm afraid I'm going to have to douse the lights."

"Of _course_, boy!" the ghost replied.

"_Nox!_" With Harry's intent, the torches in the Chamber and the corridor were also doused. The house elves had their own magic that they'd use to light up the area when they came.

With the lights out, Harry made use of the new knowledge Scathi had vouchsafed him, and took Draco to his rooms, where he helped undress his husband and put him to bed. He had studying to do, or he'd have joined Draco in his nap.

Greg and Vince turned up at Harry's rooms about a half-hour late, breadcrumbs on their robes telling the tale. If they were being paid, Harry would have fired them.

"You're late," Harry said flatly. "When I say I want to see you, I do not mean at your convenience." He wasn't quite angry enough for his eyes to change, but it was close.

"We were hungry," Vincent complained, almost whinging.

"And it was so thoughtful of you to bring a bit of something for Draco and me, too," Harry said sarcastically.

Both large boys blushed.

"Where _is_ Draco?" Greg asked.

"Napping," Harry snapped, putting an end to further questions.

"Not with you lot making such a racket," Draco's peevish voice said from the door to the bedroom. He had slipped on a silk dressing robe – one of Harry's.

"Sit down," Harry directed the two hulks, following his own advice. Draco came over to Harry, but instead of sitting in Harry's lap as he would have done if they were alone, he perched on the arm of the overstuffed chair Harry was in, adopting quite a regal pose.

Harry turned his head to whisper into Draco's ear. "You _might_ have slipped on a pair of pyjama pants, you know."

"It's only Crabbe and Goyle," Draco replied negligently.

Harry regarded his husband for a second, then shrugged, turning back to the boys in question.

Over the majority of the next hour, Harry and Draco, with occasional input from one or the other of the large boys, hammered out a schedule.

"We'll see you two early tomorrow then, right?" Harry 'asked'.

"Yes, sir," Crabbe and Goyle both answered.

"Don't be late," Draco put in.

"Wouldn't think of it," Greg replied.

After seeing Draco's bodyguards out, Harry turned to find Draco . . . pouting?

What's wrong, love?" Harry asked.

"You they call 'sir': but me?" Draco complained, "Now I'm just another pupil."

Harry laughed lightly at him, giving Draco a brief hug and a kiss on his cheek. "I'm sure they still hold a high regard for you, love. Come on; get dressed, and let's see what we can scrounge out of the kitchen."

"Did I sleep through supper?" Draco asked.

Harry shrugged. "No, but I thouht that if we go to the kitchen, you can get something you'd really enjoy eating."

"You know where it is?"

"For a few years now," Harry admitted.

The house elves were delighted that Harry had again dropped in on them in the kitchen, but as supper for the rest of the school was being prepared to be served, they didn't have the time to spend with Harry that they wished they could, and merely made sure that both boys were loaded with everything they asked for, plus a bit. Although they didn't ignore Draco, it was obvious he wasn't as popular with them as Harry was.

Draco didn't really care, for once. He had platters of delicacies that he hadn't had for years, and some that he'd only heard of before and had wished to be able to taste. He couldn't wait to get back to Harry's rooms and start sampling the goodies.

Since the corridors were getting busy with students heading up to the Great Hall, Harry stretched his abilities and pulled Draco and the trays of food into a shadow walk, to avoid letting others see the largesse they'd been bestowed with. He was tired when he brought them out of it in his rooms, but feeling victorious.

Scathi, however, warned Harry that he needed to build up his mental 'muscle' slowly. If he overextended himself he might be stuck in shadow form for quite a while, until he could be rescued.

Harry was feeling too good about his accomplishment to let Scáthfánaí's warning ruin his good mood, but he filed it away in his mind for further consideration.

o~~~~~~~~~o~~~~~~~~~o

Betas: Dawn B., Sheree S., Ishe-Leigh, Aayesha  
>Brit Picker: Andy<p> 


	15. Chapter 15

**_No Light Without Shadows_**

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Fifteen**

Dobby popped into Harry's bedroom very early the next morning – before daylight – waking him and Draco with the loud 'pop' of his arrival.

"Mister Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby was almost trembling in his agitation.

"Dobby?" Harry replied sleepily. "What is it?"

"Go _'way!_" was Draco's input, as he tried to burrow deeper into Harry's shoulder.

"No, Dobby; that's all right," Harry said as he noted the house elf's indecision. "What's wrong?"

"House elf can't handle this, Mister Harry Potter, sir," Dobby said, dithering nervously. "Wizards must take care of this, sir."

"Take care of what, Dobby?"

"It be a bad thing, Mister Harry Potter, sir," Dobby almost wailed, pulling on his ears in his distress. "It be a _very_ bad thing!"

"What?" Harry asked impatiently. He wanted get Dobby's problem sorted out so he could get back to sleep.

But it was almost impossible to get Dobby to make sense, and nothing would do but that Harry go down to Salazar's apartment to take care of whatever it was himself. Telling Draco to go back to sleep – an injunction the blond was all too willing to follow – Harry dragged himself out of bed.

"It's too blasted early to be this early," he complained.

Harry got dressed, and shadow jumped to the corridor just outside Salazar's apartment. Dobby popped in only a second later.

Trembling, Dobby led Harry to the door of a back room, but refused to enter it.

The room had been lit though, so Harry could see that this room, like the other rooms he had seen in passing, had been completely demolished. As he entered and started looking around, wand in hand, he soon found what had Dobby in such a state. A skeleton. A _human_ skeleton.

"You've found it, then," Salazar's voice said. Although there was a little sadness in his ghostly features for his skeleton, Salazar's main expression was one of anger. "They hadn't even the decency to give me a proper funeral."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Harry asked, his voice hushed.

"The same reason why I can't discuss my killers," Salazar said angrily, although the anger wasn't directed at Harry.

Harry nodded. "What do you want done with . . . um . . . them?" he said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the ghost's mortal remains.

"Oh, for the gods' sake, boy! They're bones! And I want them to have a proper sending off, of course!"

Harry nodded again. "I'm sure Dumbledore could find someone to—"

"Dumbledore? Would that happen to be that mealy-mouthed, officious longbeard that was down here a few years back?" Salazar said disparagingly, dismissing the idea. Since none of the wizards who had come down had entered his apartments, Salazar hadn't had the chance to speak to any of them, but they had come and gone so frequently for a while that he'd garnered some information about them.

"I have no idea if I have any surviving relatives..." The ghost trailed the sentence off, fishing for information.

Harry shook his head. "As far as I know, sir, there are no direct descendants of any of the Founders – except Voldemort."

"That Riddle fellow? _He's_ a Founder descendant?" Salazar asked incredulously.

"Yes, sir. Yours, as a matter of fact," Harry stated.

"Hmph! Of course!" Salazar said, disgruntled. "I'd have no luck at all, if it wasn't bad."

Harry didn't comment, but he thought the ghost was being a little dramatic. Then again, it _was_ Voldemort.

"Well, there's nothing for it then," the ghost added firmly after a moment's contemplation. "You and that Malfoy of yours will have to do it for me."

"But I don't know how!" a shocked Harry protested.

"You'll have to learn, then, won't you?" Salazar said in a matter-of-fact manner. "In the meantime, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't leave me sprawled all over the floor, like that."

"But what . . .?" Harry reconsidered what he'd been about to say. Then, after staring at the skeleton a few moments, he turned to the arm of a broken chair that was laying nearby and transformed it into a thin-walled, but solid box, and very gingerly started picking up bones and putting them in it. It was well he was so careful, although his motivation was more a reluctance to touch the skeleton. The bones were so old they had become a bit fragile. Funny that wood would have held up better than bones, but perhaps the furniture the wood had come from had, at one time, a preservation spell put on it.

Finally Harry was satisfied that he'd located every tiny bone and put it in the box, and put the box up on a shelf. A glance at Salazar showed the ghost looking at the last of his mortal remains with a rather strange look on his face. Harry thought he understood. He'd be feeling very strange to see someone handling _his_ remains, too. But he felt very dirty now, and not just because of the dust he'd been sifting through.

"I have to go. Classes," Harry told Salazar, who merely nodded his head once in acknowledgement. Then Harry muttered, "I'm probably _late_ for class." He cast Tempus. He was. It was forty minutes into Transfigurations. And he hadn't had breakfast either, so he was hungry, too. Better to skip the class entirely than walk into it late – if it wasn't already over by the time he'd bathed and broken his fast. He'd likely have a detention and points off, but walking in late, he'd have had those anyway. Harry found a dark corner, and shadow-jumped to his room.

After a long, hot shower during which Harry tried to get the feel of old death off him, he got dressed, and was just heading out when Draco walked in.

"Where've _you_ been, then?" Draco asked. When Harry hadn't shown up in class, he'd started to worry.

"Playing undertaker," Harry said sourly, pulling a face.

Draco's eyebrows tried to hide in his hairline. "Oh?" was all he said, though.

Harry nodded. "Dobby found Salazar's bones, and panicked. Then Salazar wouldn't have it any other way than I pick them up and box them until you and I can do the ceremony for the dead."

"What?" Draco exclaimed loudly.

That brought a wry grin to Harry's face. "That's right, love. Salazar wants _us_ to perform the honours."

"And how the bloody hell are we to do that?" Draco demanded.

Harry shrugged, again making for the exit. "I don't know, but we can discuss it while we eat, if you care to join me. I missed breakfast, and I'm _that_ famished."

While Harry sated his appetite seated at a corner preparation table in the kitchen, Draco sipped on a cup of tea and asked all the questions that he hadn't before: where, why, what had happened, who had said what, and so on.

When Draco ran out of questions, Harry asked, "You doing all right, then?" gesturing at the lone cup of tea that the blond had been nursing.

"I had a good breakfast," Draco said, defending himself.

Harry raised his brows in doubt.

"Call me a liar, then," Draco said defensively, "but I did!"

"Alright, Draco," Harry said, raising his hands in surrender, "but you must admit that you don't, always."

Draco didn't answer Harry. He contented himself with pouting for being 'put upon'.

Harry kissed Draco's cheek in apology, but when Draco continued his act, he shrugged and finished off the last bit of his own breakfast, and then took a last long draught on his just-cooled-enough coffee.

"By the by," Draco said casually as they exited the kitchen, "McGonagall wants to see you soonest."

"What excuse did you give her?" Harry asked.

"That you brushed me off when I tried to wake you," Draco informed his husband.

Harry groaned. "Thank you _so_ much, dear," he said sarcastically.

"I do my best," Draco replied, grinning. Revenge was sweet. It had started out as revenge for Harry leaving him alone in bed that morning, but it would do for Harry doubting him, as well.

"I'd best go see what the damage is, then," Harry said resignedly. "I'll see you at lunch so we can plan when to research this other problem." He was being deliberately vague since they'd entered the main corridor now, and there were a couple of other people nearby.

"'Luck," Draco wished him breezily.

Harry decided to 'mishear' the word. "What a perfectly lovely idea," he said, backing Draco up against a wall, and bending in to nibble at the blond's neck.

"Harry," Draco groaned, his hands on Harry's shoulders – although whether to push him away or pull him closer was anyone's guess. Here was his long-ago daydream coming true, and Draco had to put a stop to it. "Harry," he repeated, a bit more firmly, albeit in a low voice so only Harry would hear him, "I said 'luck' – not 'fuck'."

"I like the latter idea better," Harry said, continuing his assault.

"We have an audience!" Draco exclaimed weakly, still keeping his volume down.

Someone snickered.

Harry looked around. "You're that badly in need of instruction?" he asked the half-dozen people who'd stopped to watch. They all turned red in embarrassment and wandered away, although a couple of them were also muttering imprecations.

"Now, where were we?" Harry said sensually, turning back to his lover.

"_You_ were about to go see Professor McGonagall," Draco said firmly, pushing away from the wall, and Harry. _And I'm going for a lie-down,_ he thought to himself, before remembering he had Arithmancy in just a few minutes.

"Go!" Draco said, making shooing gestures.

"There you are!" came Vincent's voice. "Don't you have a class soon?"

"See?" Draco said to Harry. "I'm in perfectly safe hands."

Harry growled throatily, causing Draco's eyes to go wide.

_Damn! Now I _need_ a lie-down, and I haven't the time!_ he thought.

"Get out of here, before I decide to sleep in my own bed tonight!" Draco threatened in a low whisper.

With a warning glance at Vincent to take care of Draco, which the other Slytherin acknowledged with a nod of his head, Harry gave Draco's hand a quick squeeze, and headed off.

"Come on," Draco said to Vincent gruffly, "that damn man has made me late to my next class!"

Vincent sniggered, and was the recipient of a spell that boxed his ears, for his trouble.

"It's the Slytherin/Gryffindor match Saturday, Harry," Draco said as they were eating their lunch.

"Is it, then?"

"Mm-hm."

"You're sounding a bit wistful. Sorry you gave up your position?" Harry asked.

"I enjoyed the game, the excitement," Draco admitted. It had been a hard decision, but Draco had decided that helping Harry with everything he needed to learn was more important than a sporting game of Quidditch. (In addition to everything else, Draco, once he knew that Harry _wasn't_ totally hopeless at potions, had undertaken to catch Harry up with the past five years of lessons.)

Nor had the team been happy with Draco's decision, but considering the fact that the Gryffindor team was now without Harry, they'd been better able to swallow their disappointment than would have otherwise been the case. Young Talbot had turned out to be a tolerable Seeker, and Slytherin House had won more games than they'd lost.

"You'd have had to quit anyway," Harry said, glancing at Draco's still-flat abdomen. "And it would have been a lot more awkward to quit, middle of the season."

"True," Draco said, spooning up another mouthful of the thick stew they'd been served.

"Want to go see it, then?"

"I think I might," Draco replied.

"Right," Harry replied, the matter settled.

Changing the subject, Harry said, "McGonagall gave me two hours' detention with Filch after supper tonight. Could you see if you can find a book or two in the library to help us with that project?"

As always, there were those listening who just 'couldn't help overhearing' others conversations, so Harry was being circumspect. And with the way he'd phrased the request, the listeners lost interest, thinking he was talking about a school assignment.

"Of course," Draco replied negligently.

"Make sure you have one of the duo with you?" Harry requested, and not only for Draco's ears.

Draco shrugged, then nodded.

The duo, Greg and Vince, on Draco's other side, also nodded. They'd got the message.

Draco was beginning to feel a bit claustrophobic from having someone with him whenever he wasn't in his or Harry's rooms, but he valued his skin and was putting up with it. He determined to beard Professor Snape again though, and find out the status of the investigation into the 'accident'.

Unfortunately they still didn't know who had instigated the incident, or why. What Professor Snape had said however, was, "Investigations are still in progress, boy; now stop plaguing me about it!"

The rest of the day was without undue incident, and Draco had controlled himself throughout supper, but the blond practically attacked Harry when his husband got back from his detention that night. He cast silencing and locking spells on the portal, as well as conjuring a cloth so Harry's portal guardian couldn't watch, and then started divesting Harry of his clothes.

"You . . . twit!" Draco said exasperatedly. "You _know_ what your growling does to me! Haven't been able . . . to concentrate . . . all afternoon!"

Although a bit taken by surprise, Harry grinned. "Yeah, I do," he leered.

Draco stopped what he was doing and stared at his lover. "You did it on purpose?" he asked incredulously.

"No," Harry disavowed, "but—"

"Then just . . . shut up!" Draco demanded. He finished getting Harry naked, then slipped off his dressing robe, which had been his only garment as he waited for Harry to arrive.

Harry submitted to Draco's ministrations, then crushed his husband to him and gave him a bruising kiss, which Draco returned in kind.

The action quickly advanced to Harry's bed, but it didn't stay there as Draco very demandingly told Harry just how he was to fuck him, and in what positions – including a couple that incorporated the use of a wall. Harry had to use a couple of spells to help himself last long enough to completely satisfy his blond lover, but eventually they were both completely sated, and too tired to even clean themselves up afterward.

Draco had forgotten about Scathi, who kept out of sight, and got quite an education that evening.

It was another three days before Harry made it back down to the Chamber of Secrets. In the meantime he and Draco had been studying the ritual for the dead. While it wasn't difficult, there was a lot to memorise, and they hadn't quite got it down, yet.

"Back so soon?" Salazar asked as Harry briskly walked in.

"It's been three days," Harry replied, surprised.

"Oh? Lose all track of time down here, you know: especially after all these centuries," the ghost said as his alibi. "So you've got the ritual, then? Where's your Malfoy?"

"We're not quite ready yet, but we _do_ have it, and have been trying to memorise it," Harry said earnestly.

"Difficult, is it?"

"Just long, really," Harry admitted. "I've just come down to see how Dobby and Skiph have been doing, and to see where the corridor comes out, out there." Looking around, he was impressed. Most of the tapestries had been repaired, although apparently very little of the furniture had been salvageable, even with magic. But the room was clean, at any rate.

"The forest, naturally," Salazar replied. "Well hidden though, if I _do_ say so myself, as shouldn't."

"You created it, then?"

"Of course," Salazar said proudly. "These _are_ my apartments, after all."

"So why isn't that your likeness out there, then? The large bust?" Harry asked.

"That _would_ have been a bit of cheek, wouldn't it, boy?" Salazar said. "No, I'm not _that_ vain, and Merlin's image was much better for the purpose."

"That's Merlin?" Harry asked, astounded.

"Good gods, boy! What are they teaching you these days, that you don't know _Merlin's_ visage?"

Harry frowned. "Not enough, sir, I can tell you that," he said, thinking of four almost wasted years of DADA.

"Tell me," the ghost demanded.

Harry really hadn't meant to spend much time there this time, but he was more or less obliged, so he settled into the chair Draco had transformed the last time they were there and started telling Salazar about the classes that were being taught, and what was being taught in them. Well over an hour later, what with Slytherin's questions, exclamations and declamations, he completed the recital.

"Astronomy! Muggle Studies! Divination, for Merlin's sake! What has this school come to?" bemoaned the ghost angrily. "Yes, well, I can see where Muggle Studies might have a use. Ruddy unfathomable at times, those people."

"You had the other classes then, sir?" Harry asked.

"Of course, boy, although I can assure you we only allowed half an hour a week for History of Magic! And whatever happened to the physical arts: swordplay and self-defense – the arts of the gentleman?"

"No longer taught, I'm afraid, sir," Harry replied, "although some of us might still be interested."

"But nobody to teach you them!" the Founder raged. Although he was a ghost, whose colour palettes tended to run to shades of white, grey and silver even where blood was concerned, Salazar's angry face was taking on a faintly pinkish hue.

"Would you be interested, sir?" Harry asked.

"Me? Who'd be taught by a ghost?" Salazar said disparagingly.

"Did I forget to mention that Professor Binns, who teaches History of Magic, is a ghost?"

Salazar stared at Harry, and then burst out in great peals of laughter. "Fitting!" he roared. "Ruddy boring subject!"

But Salazar declined to teach a full class, even on the sly, as it were. Teaching the use of sword and dagger, Quarterstaffing, and the bow and arrow usually required at least some hands-on training – something of which the Founder was now incapable. However, he would undertake to teach Harry and Draco to see if it could be done.

That matter settled, Harry promised to have the death ritual memorised as soon as possible. Then he took his leave, and went to look at the outer entrance of the Chamber for himself.

Upon seeing it, Harry wondered how the hell Dumbledore – or whoever was responsible for the deed – had found the entrance. A cleverly counter-weighted boulder behind a thick growth of vines hid the passage close beside, and partially behind a waterfall. It wasn't a particularly large waterfall, nor very impressive, but the formation of the cliff it tumbled over was folded and rough enough for the purpose of hiding any discrepancies, and the noise of the falling water would cover any untoward sounds. With the boulder in its closed position, Harry couldn't tell there was anything unnatural about it even from close to. So perhaps it _hadn't_ been closed when it was found?

Upon re-entering the passageway, Harry cast the most advanced locking charm he knew on the 'door', and resolved to find better. Dumbledore or any other sufficiently advanced wizard would likely be able to get past this one. Perhaps some of those wards they'd learned would work? But simply warding an entryway was a different application than what they'd done at Malfoy Manor, so some research was called for: and this time he couldn't use Hermione.

Maybe he could ask Salazar, but that would have to wait; time was running short, and he needed to meet Draco.

Making his way back to his rooms, Harry found Draco waiting for him, and related everything he had found to his lover on their way to lunch, raising the blond's curiosity to see for himself. However, Draco wasn't to have an uninterrupted meal. An old, decrepit owl flew into the Great Hall, made its way to the Slytherin table, and collapsed in Draco's plate.

"What the bloody hell!" Draco exclaimed angrily.

"It's Errol," Harry said, pulling the owl out of Draco's meal.

"And what, may I ask, is an 'Errol'?"

"He belongs to the Weasleys," Harry explained, knowing what was coming. He was right.

"That explains it, then," Draco said sneeringly. "Too bloody poor to have a _proper_ owl."

"Too kind-hearted to retire him when he still wants to work," Harry corrected. But thinking of Pig – Pigwidgeon, the Weasely's other owl – it did seem that his foster family had a rather strange taste in owls.

"So what was so ruddy important that he had to ruin my meal?" Draco asked, ignoring Harry's reprimand.

Instead of answering the question immediately, Harry called for Dobby.

"You called, Master Harry?" Dobby asked after he popped in.

"Yes, Dobby. Thank you. Could you ask the kitchen elves to send up another plate for Draco? An owl landed in his."

"Yes, Master Harry," Dobby said with a grin, happy to be doing Harry a personal service, rather than just cleaning and renovating for him. The latter was rewarding, but a house elf found waiting personally on their masters so much more satisfying.

"Thank you, Dobby," Harry said, smiling.

Dobby popped out, and Harry turned his attention to the letter Errol had been carrying.

"It's addressed to you," he said to Draco.

Draco frowned in suspicion. "Why would _they_ want to write _me?_" he asked. "Probably just want to curse at me for being around you," he decided. "Throw it away."

Instead, Harry opened the missive and started reading. Draco was a bit miffed by that – it was _his_ post, after all – but since he'd more or less disclaimed ownership by deciding to discard it...

Draco's ruined meal disappeared, and was replaced a few seconds later. Draco resumed his interrupted meal.

"It's from Molly," Harry informed his husband. His cheeks were a bit red. "She's welcoming you to the family."

"What?" Draco exclaimed. "Has she lost her blooming mind?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm—"

"Mister Potter!" came Professor Snape's voice as he bore down on them. "Was that a _personal_ house elf?"

"Yes sir," Harry said, turning to his Head of House. "I called him from home to expedite replacing Draco's meal."

He _could_ have called Dobby from the Black mansion, so it was only a small lie.

"Has this been a habit of yours?"

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. "No, sir," he replied truthfully. Twice couldn't be called a habit.

Snape eyed him. "Detention, Potter," he decided. "Tonight: eight o'clock. Don't do it again."

"No sir," Harry replied through tense jaws. _Greasy git_, he thought resentfully. At the same time, he had no intention of obeying the man. He'd do the detention, but he was going to need Dobby more frequently, now. Once the baby was born . . . _Oh, gods. Maybe we'll need Winky after all, _Harry thought.

Draco remained diplomatically quiet.

When Harry had calmed down, he resumed his explanation to Draco.

"As I was saying, the Weasleys have more or less adopted me: informally, of course. They're the only family I have, and now they've welcomed you, too."

Having just lost his parents, Draco was torn. He was jealous that Harry had people who wanted to call him family, and a bit wistful as well for the invitation extended to him – and yet . . . the Weasleys! He gave a quiet shudder with his reaction. Both his family and personal feud with the Weasleys made it almost impossible to accept that invitation. But even though Harry was eating and acting as though it didn't concern him at all, Draco could tell that his husband wanted him to accept – that it was important to Harry for Draco to be accepted.

"Let me read that," Draco said impatiently, holding his hand out imperiously.

"Hmph! Not exactly an enthusiastic endorsement," Draco grumped, once he'd read the letter.

"But unanimous – even Ron agreed," Harry said.

"Under threat of torture, most likely," Draco grumbled.

Harry couldn't help a snort of laughter at that, but privately, he agreed. In order for _Ron_ to have agreed, there would likely have been a lot of family pressure brought to bear.

Draco glared at Harry and heaved an exasperated sigh, then he said, "If I regret this, I'm going to make your life hell, Harry."

Harry grinned at the blond, then pulled him in for a hug and kiss, despite Draco trying to fend him off.

"Not in public, you git!" was Draco's blushing complaint.

The Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch teams were fairly evenly matched. Ginny Weasley had taken Harry's place as Seeker, and it seemed she and Talbot, from Slytherin, were fairly evenly matched as well.

Games when Harry and Draco had been involved had usually only lasted two to three hours, but this one seemed to promise to become much longer. It did. People left the stands from time to time for a snack or toilet break, only to return. For even though the game was becoming very long, it was a far cry from being boring as scores were made or blocked, flyers barely avoided bludgers, and the snitch was chased, only to eventually be lost again.

Draco tried to pretend indifference, but small movements he made gave away his interest: various tensions, tiny twistings of his body as he tried to vicariously 'help' a player, and small jumps as excitement overtook him. Harry cheered for any good play, no matter which House made it. He received a few dirty looks for cheering Gryffindor, but since he wasn't slighting his own House, his detractors were a little confused, and it never came to anything serious. To the few who protested his cheering the opposing team, Harry said, "I'm a fan of the game, not the House!"

Vince and Greg, who were there as bodyguards as well as spectators, were just as happy to not have to act against any disgruntled Housemates.

Suppertime came around, and house elves showed up in the stands with baskets of sandwiches of various sorts for those who didn't wish to leave to eat in the Great Hall. Draco received a tuna sandwich in a soft baguette, and Harry got cold ham and cheese in a sandwich roll.

It started getting dark and even more chilly, and Draco had just cast a warming spell on himself and Harry to ward off the cold when the snitch was again spotted. The Seekers dodged in and about the other players, and even followed it amongst the flag poles and structural supports. Ginny and Talbot were skilful, but not a spot on what Harry and Draco had been – but then Harry and Draco had been almost suicidal in their competition with each other and had gone to extremes, and beyond.

It was very close, but Talbot caught the snitch when it swerved to avoid Ginny, and almost smacked into the boy's hand.

Harry cheered for that, too, although he felt a bit sorry for Ginny.

Harry dragged Draco around the pitch, Greg and Vince trying manfully to keep up, hoping to get close to the girl before she went into the changing rooms, and just barely got within earshot.

"Good game, Ginny!" he yelled to her. "Rotten luck at the end, there."

Ginny heard him. Looking around, she spotted Harry, Draco by his side, and gave him a wave and a wry smile before being ushered into the changing room by her teammates.

"Rotten luck?" Draco griped.

"Shush, you," Harry said fondly, squeezing the blond to him.

o~~~~~~~~~o~~~~~~~~~o

A/N: I've been getting reviews from confused readers regarding what's been said about Draco being in a 'delicate condition'. In chapter 12 Draco was told by an unlicensed medical provider that he wasn't pregnant, and believed it. That was his thoughts, not my story facts. :) But laying aside the competence of the provider, considering that wizards aren't supposed to be able to get pregnant, how well do you suppose that medi-person actually checked?

Betas: Sheree S., Aayesha, Ishe-Leigh Brit-Picker: Andy


	16. Chapter 16

**_No Light Without Shadows_**

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Sixteen**

By this time the Ministry was done with their investigations into the deaths of Draco's parents and had released the Malfoy assets to him. The verdict of that investigation? 'Murder by person or persons unknown.'

Draco almost screamed his frustration with the bloody useless Ministry of Magic.

But he had taken over the reins of his family's finances and other concerns, and had been teaching Harry the ins and outs of handling his own for some time now. Because Draco had undertaken to teach him so much, Harry had put a stop to scheduling their private lessons together. It had been getting to be a strain on his husband, and a nuisance to him. They still had their lessons together several times a week, but it was on more of a catch-as-catch-can basis – whenever there _was _time, and whatever subject came up at the time.

And Harry made sure that he and Draco had time for socialising. In that vein, Harry finally got around to once again making a date with his Gryffindor friends for the next Hogsmeade weekend, knowing as he did so that Draco wasn't going to be happy with it.

"No," Draco declared. "I've let you rope me into letting your Weasleys call me family, but I will _not_ become a Gryffindork for you!"

"They're Gryffindors, not Gryffindorks," Harry corrected him with equanimity, "but if it's going to make you unhappy, you certainly don't have to come."

Draco eyed Harry cautiously. "As easily as that, then?" he asked. His husband was up to something. He could feel it.

"As easily as that," Harry affirmed.

"You're not going to try convincing me? Not that it would work, mind you."

"No, no Hogsmeade, no Three Broomsticks, no Zonko's," Harry said reassuringly.

"Something's off," Draco said suspiciously. "What's your game, then?"

Harry shrugged, giving Draco an innocent look. "No game. Truly!" he avowed.

"Well. Good, then," Draco replied, still not convinced Harry was being quite honest.

"Of course I _was_ hoping you'd help me put Seamus off," Harry 'casually' added.

Draco had forgotten the Irishman was going to be in the group. Finnigan was a notorious flirt who would bed anything on two legs, male or female, regardless of their previous or ongoing relationships.

Annoyed, Draco said, "I see your ploy, Harry, and it _will not_ work." What annoyed him even more than Harry's blatant attempt to make him jealous was that it _was_ working.

Harry grinned at him. "Alright," he said easily. "I'm off to meet the lot of them, then, and I'll see you later." Harry fully expected that he'd be meeting Draco a lot sooner than the blond thought. In fact he expected his husband would be joining them, despite his resistance.

Harry went up to Gryffindor Tower. Neville met him there outside the Gryffindor common room, then went in to collect the others who'd been invited.

Ron came out shortly after Neville had gone in. He'd heard Neville calling Ginny and a few others, saying Harry was awaiting them. "H'lo, Harry," he said quietly, unsure of his welcome.

"Weasley," Harry replied coolly.

"Look – Harry – I'm sorry, all right?" Ron whinged. "I even agreed to invite – um . . . – 'Draco' into the family." Ron hadn't forgiven Draco anything, and was still wanting to call Draco 'the ferret'. But he missed his best friend, and would swallow his enmity for Malfoy to get back in Harry's good graces.

"Mum's pleased he accepted," the redhead exaggerated. Relieved that the young Malfoy wouldn't likely be hindering Harry's coming by to see them was more to the point, and she was willing to put up with the blond aristocrat to have Harry there. "Mind you, she just about had a heart attack first, she was that surprised." That, at least, was close to the truth.

"And how long did you hold out before you agreed?" Harry asked acidly.

"About five seconds," Ginny said as the Fat Lady swung aside, and she came through the port. Neville came through with her, but kept silent as he sensed a confrontation going on.

"Hello, Ginny," Harry said warmly, before his expression went serious again. "Really?"

"Truly," Ginny replied. Ron's head was nodding rapidly, as well.

"I'm sorry I've taken so long to speak up, Harry, but I just didn't know what to do," Ron said, his head now hanging in shame.

Harry was now on the horns of a dilemma. On the one hand he wasn't quite ready to forgive Ron, but on the other, if he rejected this apology...

"Considering your view of Slytherins, your accusations really hurt, Ron," Harry finally replied. "I'll accept your apology for the sake of the rest of the family, but it's going to take me a while to forgive and forget."

Ron had raised his head in hope as Harry accepted his apology, but he hung it again as his former best friend finished his sentence.

"I understand," Ron said. "I wouldn't forgive me, either."

"His ears were ringing when we got done with him," Ginny put in.

Harry gave a wry grin. "I figured something of the sort would occur. You looked angry enough to take on an army, after I was re-Sorted."

"Took me a while to heal," Ron mumbled.

Ginny's face turned red. "I rather used him as target practice for a few days," she confessed.

But then her face brightened. "And you should have_ just_ heard the Howler he received after Mum and Da found out!" Ginny chortled.

Ron's face rivalled what his sister's had been, now.

"I already knew I'd cocked up by then," Ron said, shrugging as if to repeat how lost he'd felt about trying to correct his error.

"Did someone mention cock?" a voice asked cheerily.

Seamus had arrived, Dean right behind him.

Ginny knocked Seamus upside the head. "Shut it, you gormless git!"

"Hey!" Seamus objected. "Watch the hair!" he pouted, in imitation of Draco, before breaking into a wide grin.

Ginny and Dean rolled their eyes at his antics. It was old news, to them.

"I'll meet you all down at the doors," Harry told the small group, smiling politely. "I need to talk to Ron privately, a moment."

As soon as the others were out of sight, Harry quietly told Ron, "If you want to keep a boyfriend, you might want to consider refining your ways. Blaise wasn't the least bit impressed – although he _did_ say the sex was great." And then he turned and headed off as well, leaving Ron looking after him with his face blazing and his mouth agape.

As soon as Harry was out of sight and had found a dark niche behind a suit of armour, he did a quick shadow walk to the front door. He wasn't surprised to find he'd beat the Gryffindors there, **or** that Draco was standing nearby.

"Hello, love," Harry murmured in Draco's ear – and nearly got knocked for six as Draco reacted.

"You beastly arse! Stop sneaking about!" Draco exclaimed. "You'll have me jumping at shadows."

Harry looked at his husband, amusement in his eyes, since he _had_ just come out of the shadows. "Well?" he said.

"Not in the least amusing," Draco replied flatly.

"Sorry, love," Harry said almost sincerely, taking Draco in his arms and giving him a small peck on the lips.

"Harry! How'd you make it here before us?" Ginny exclaimed, as they came into sight and spied the pair.

"And may I join in?" Seamus asked.

Harry grinned. "That's my secret," he replied teasingly to his 'sister'.

Then switching his attention to Seamus, his expression becoming a warning, Harry said, "And you know better than to ask."

Seamus shrugged, his gamin grin saying, 'Yeah, but I had to do it anyway.'

"I'm quite up on my castration spells, Finnigan," Draco told the Irishman with a crocodilian smile.

Seamus pretended not to hear, but he was on his best behaviour the whole outing. Other than Harry and Draco, nobody else in the small group was sexually interesting. Dean and Neville preferred girls, and Ginny had, some time ago, hexed the Irishman up one side and down the other when he'd refused to take 'no' for an answer. He'd got the message.

After a meal, a few drinks and some convivial conversation at The Three Broomsticks, the small group wandered around Hogsmeade, and eventually Neville, Dean and Seamus went their own way. Harry _did_ forego Zonko's for Draco's sake, but he insisted on taking his lover to Honeyduke's, where he bought him simply _pounds_ of the best chocolates as a reward for coming along and behaving himself – at least for the most part.

Draco surveyed the pile with a jaundiced eye. "Are you _trying_ to make me fat, Harry?" he asked.

"Oh, lighten up, blondie," Ginny quipped. "You might do with a few sit-ups, but you're still slender as a reed."

Harry frowned, but didn't say anything. If anyone else had spoken to Draco that way, Harry would have hexed them. But he wanted Draco and his family to get on. So unless he _needed_ to interfere, he wouldn't.

Draco went still. "What do you mean – 'a few sit-ups'?" he asked, danger in his tone.

"Well, if I thought you went in for such a low-brow drink, I'd say you had the beginnings of a beer gut," the redheaded girl replied. "Not that it's all that noticeable, yet. Lack of Quidditch?" she asked.

"I will have you know, Weasellette," Draco began, only to have Harry put a hand on his shoulder in warning. Draco glared at him, then began again. " . . ._Ginevra_, that I am _not_ getting fat!"

"Then what's _that?_" Ginny asked argumentatively, poking at Draco's abdomen.

Draco quickly stepped back, slapping at her hand as he did so, but the move had taken him by surprise, and the girl's finger managed to land on its target for a split second before he could knock it away.

Ginny was a bit surprised by how firm the flesh was. It certainly didn't _feel_ like fat or flabby muscle.

"Keep your hands to yourself, bitch!" Draco snarled. It took an effort not to put his hands protectively over his abdomen.

"Draco!" Harry interjected.

Harry addressed the girl before Draco or Ginny could say anything else. "Ginny – drop it," he said firmly.

"But—"

"Drop it," Harry said again, this time allowing the words to hold a request as well as an order.

Ginny looked at him a few seconds, and then nodded.

"Don't see what all the fuss is about," she muttered.

"None of your bleeding business!" Draco told her, still fuming at the temerity of the girl.

Ginny regarded the temperamental blond thoughtfully before turning again to Harry.

"Before I forget," she said, "Mum said to ask you and Mister Grumpy home for the half-term hols."

"I wouldn't _be_ grumpy if certain parties—"

"Draco!" Harry exclaimed again.

Giving Ginny an apologetic look, Harry said, "Excuse us a moment, please?" and then took his husband off a ways.

"I haven't said anything, love, but you _are_ starting to show, just a bit," Harry murmured. He wondered if Ginny was psychic, though; the convexity of his husband's abdomen was _very_ slight, at this point. Ignoring Draco's faint protest, Harry said, "Everyone is going to know soon, if we can't find a spell to hide it. And Ginny _is_ family."

"She's not _my_—"

"You accepted," Harry interrupted firmly, eyeing his husband sternly.

"No," Draco said firmly.

"You're backing out?" Harry looked hurt as he asked it.

Draco hesitated, and although he would have liked to answer differently, he said, "No," laying a hand on Harry's arm. "Just – I don't wish to tell anyone."

"Six weeks, Draco," Harry replied gently, but firmly. "Almost six weeks to mid-term hols. By that time I'd like you to have made up your mind that we tell our family, anyway."

Draco flinched. 'Our' family? "Even . . . Ronald?" Draco asked with a moue of distaste for having to say the name. He couldn't call him 'Weasley', because they were talking about a whole bloody _tribe_ of the blasted redheads!

Harry hesitated. "I don't see how we can avoid it," he replied. "I don't think the rest of the family would keep it from him."

"I'll think about it," Draco said truculently. Six weeks. Six weeks to change Harry's mind.

"That's all I can ask," Harry said softly, thinking the argument was won. They rejoined Ginny.

"We'd be glad to join you at Half Term," Harry told her with a smile, as though that had been the subject of their conversation.

There was suspicion in Ginny's eyes for a second, and then she dismissed it and gave him a wide grin. "Brilliant!" she exclaimed.

"Hey, Potter! A word with you?"

Harry looked up from the tome he was reading as he lounged in the Slytherin common room. With very few exceptions, albeit with a quiet reserve, Slytherin House had accepted Harry's presence.

"Sure, Blaise. Have a seat," Harry invited. After the fiasco with Ron, Harry and Blaise had become almost friendly – enough for given names, but that was about it.

Blaise sat on the opposite end of the couch, folding one leg beneath the other, and flinging an arm along its back. "I have that information you've been looking for, Harry," Blaise said in a low voice.

"Which information would that be?"

"Hogwarts board meeting," the dark-skinned Slytherin revealed.

Harry sat back, carefully casual, twisting around a little to face Blaise.

"Oh?" he said.

"What will you give me for it?" Blaise inquired.

"What do you want?" Harry asked.

Blaise' eyes slowly travelled up and down Harry's form.

"Something else, unless you want to wind up missing your favourite bits," Harry said with a small grin. "Draco tells me he's well up on his castration spells."

Blaise eyed Harry curiously, wondering why Draco had felt the need to divulge that information to Harry, but shrugged. "You helped me with Weasley, so consider this remuneration; my mother is currently going out with one of the board members. She found out for me that the next meeting is tonight."

"Where?" Harry asked.

"Aberdeen – 'The Three Furies'," Blaise replied, "first floor1 conference room at eight this evening."

"Thank you," Harry replied.

"Think nothing of it," Blaise replied. "By which I mean . . . we're even."

Harry eyed the other Slytherin, holding him in place with his gaze while he weighed the value of the information. "I don't think so," he finally answered with a grin, "but it's quite a good down payment."

"But—"

Making sure they wouldn't be overheard, Harry interrupted. "What do you think the twins would do if they found out you'd buggered their little brother, then dumped him?" he asked.

Blaise paled. "You wouldn't," he said imploringly.

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, then grinned and reiterated, "Like I said, the information is a good down payment, but it's not enough to make us even."

"Bastard," Blaise griped admiringly.

Harry's grin grew. "I try," he replied.

**. . . **

Harry entered his rooms and set down the book he'd been reading on his desk with a heavy 'thump'.

"Harry?" he heard from the bathroom.

"No!" Harry called back. "It's the milkman!"

"Fantastic," Draco replied enthusiastically. "I was so afraid it was that pesky husband of mine. Well, come on, then. Deliveries in the rear."

"Yours, I hope," Harry said, grinning.

"Of course!" Draco said, emerging into the sitting room.

"Damn! It _is_ you," Draco said with a wink as he caught sight of Harry. He'd evidently just had a shower, since his hair was wet and he only had on a towel, wrapped around his waist. He let it fall as Harry gathered him into his arms.

After deliveries and collections had been made and they were lying in bed cuddling, Harry said, "Aberdeen. Have you ever been?"

"Mm-hm," Draco replied. "A few times. Why?"

"According to Blaise, the Hogwarts school board is meeting there tonight. Care to come along?"

"Really?"

"Mm-hm. Wouldn't have asked, otherwise."

"Would I be allowed?"

Harry gave a small frown. "I don't know," he admitted. "But even if not, you'd have a change of scenery."

"Good point. All right, then. Where are they meeting?"

"A place called 'The Three Furies'?"

Draco frowned. "I know where it is," he said.

"You don't sound thrilled," Harry observed, sitting up to lean against the headboard. Draco automatically sat up to continue the cuddle.

"It's near the docks."

"And?"

"It's not exactly in the best part of town, Harry."

"So you're saying that a bunch of wizards are using an establishment in a neighbourhood where the locals aren't likely to pay too close attention to strange goings-on?"

"You could look at it like that," Draco said, peeved, "or you could wonder why they'd choose such a place when they could meet here, in an establishment in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley, or a conference room in the Ministry of Magic – all much nicer environments."

Harry had to admit that his husband had a point, but . . . "I don't think Blaise was lying," he said with a puzzled frown.

"But he _could_ have been misled," Draco said firmly.

Harry snarled, frustrated – and a small string of lightning leapt from him across the room, impinging on a brass casting of a serpent.

"Harry!" Draco yelped, leaping away from his lover.

Harry just sat there, staring in shock at the wall ornament.

"Harry?" Draco said a few seconds later in a shaky voice as he peeked up over the edge of the bed at his husband, "I do believe we may have discovered one of your abilities."

Harry looked at the blond, his eyes blank, and then they cleared and Harry gave a shaky laugh at the understatement before sobering again. "Are you all right?" he asked worriedly.

Draco nodded. "Just gave me a bit of a fright, that's all," he admitted, slowly getting up and crawling back into bed.

Harry gathered him in and tried to comfort him.

"I'm alright, Harry," Draco said reassuringly as he felt Harry trembling.

"Thank Merlin," Harry replied. "If I'd hurt you..."

"But you didn't," Draco said softly.

"I think we need to get Salazar's funeral done so he'll train us. I don't want to take the chance that the next time we mightn't be so lucky."

Draco nodded.

"I'm hungry," Draco said, as if it had never happened before. "Isn't it close to supper?"

It was. A couple of cleansing spells later, newly acquired by Draco, and with a few minutes to dress and groom themselves, they made their way to the Great Hall for supper.

"So you're not going to this thing, are you?" Draco asked as he cut into his roast chicken.

Harry adopted a small frown. "Not without verification," he decided.

"I'm happy to see I've managed to teach you a little caution," Draco said with a smirk.

"Toff," Harry called him fondly.

Draco elbowed him in the ribs, but not _too_ hard.

"No, but I think I'm going to have to beard the old man," Harry said with a frown. "If it _is_ tonight, there's not time to owl the board itself – which I should have done long before now!" Harry was growling those last words, angry with himself for not thinking of it beforehand, and going to such elaborate lengths instead.

Draco stopped eating.

"Harry," he said conversationally, "would you mind awfully if I boxed you about the ears?"

"What?" Harry asked, puzzled. Then, as he looked at his husband and noted the slight, uncomfortable squirming, he caught on. "Oh. Sorry." Harry couldn't help but feel a little pride in the fact that Draco found 'certain tones of voice' from him sexy, though.

"You should be, you pillock," Draco replied.

"I am," Harry replied honestly. It wasn't fair of him to set off that reaction in his husband, but to be fair to himself, he hadn't meant to do so. "But I _should_ have thought of the direct approach," he continued. "All I'd have had to do is send an owl!" Harry felt a slight pang at the inadvertent reminder of Hedwig, but ruthlessly shoved it down.

"And if you had consulted me, I would have told you that," Draco replied.

Harry very maturely stuck his tongue out at his husband.

"Don't do that unless you plan to use it," Draco directed.

"Oh, I do – but not until much later," Harry said with a smirk.

"Tease."

A titter from someone else at the table reminded them of where they were, causing them both to blush. Smirks abounded on the faces of their dinner companions.

After they had eaten, and just as Harry was rising from the table to go search out Dumbledore, a very unwelcome voice spoke up.

"Mister Potter."

Harry's rolled his eyes. "Yes, Professor Snape?" he replied, turning to face the man. Where had he come from, anyway? If it had been Voldemort, he'd be dead, now.

"I require your presence in my office. You _and_ Mister Malfoy."

"Yes, Professor Snape, but might it wait? I have been—"

"No, Mister Potter. Now," Snape interrupted, steel in his voice.

"We may be late for a meeting of—" Draco said, trying to intervene, but he also was interrupted.

"_Now_, Mister Malfoy."

Harry and Draco exchanged glances, and Harry shrugged. There was always the next meeting, if Snape made them miss this one.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied.

As the three of them were walking to the dungeons, Harry decided that he had nothing to lose by inquiring, so asked his Head of House, "I don't suppose you know when the Hogwarts school board meets next, sir?"

"How is that any of your business, Potter?"

"One of those seats belongs to my family, and since I am the Head, it behoves me to sit in it," Harry replied.

Snape was quiet for the space of nine paces, and then replied, "Three days hence at eight p.m. on the fourth floor, west wing, in the Grand Conference Room."

Harry and Draco exchanged meaningful looks.

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied.

"Now," Professor Snape said when they were all ensconced in his office, "do you know why you're here?"

Draco knew better than to answer a loaded question like that. He sat there, waiting.

Harry hadn't yet learned. "No, sir," he unwisely said.

"No," the professor sneered. "You wouldn't, would you?"

Snape got up from his desk and started prowling his office, occasionally going behind the chairs the boys were seated in as he talked – a calculated attempt to make them nervous.

"In light of your marital status I haven't said anything about the two of you sharing a bed from time to time," the professor stated (although the mental picture made him snarl to himself), "but word has got back to me that you've been seen snogging in the halls, and making suggestive remarks to each other in the Great Hall and elsewhere."

"Sir," Harry said as Snape again passed behind them, "please don't do that."

"Do what, Potter?" Snape snapped, irritated to be interrupted.

"You make me nervous when you walk behind me."

"Live with it," the man growled. "Now as I was saying—"

"Sir, it might be dangerous for you," Harry interrupted.

"Are you threatening me, Potter?" Snape asked tensely.

"No, sir; I'm trying to warn you that one of my elemental abilities has surfaced, and I don't have any control of it, yet," Harry replied.

Severus stopped in his tracks. "Which one?" he inquired.

"Lightning," Draco replied. "We were conversing, and he got frustrated. I'm afraid one of the brass snakes on the wall has hissed its last."

Draco was exaggerating, of course. Although the mini-lightning had struck the wall decoration, it had only melted out a very small hole.

Although he felt as though he was backing down – a situation which griped him to no end – Severus elected to follow the course of reason, and sat back behind his desk.

"I expect you to harness that ability in short order, Potter," Snape said severely. "We cannot have you being even more of a danger to the student body than you already are."

The unjust accusation spiked Harry's anger, and a small bolt of lightning grounded itself in a metal retort, but only because Harry had felt it coming this time, and had desperately tried to wrest its direction away from the professor. He didn't know how he'd accomplished it. But as angry as the man made him, Harry didn't want him dead.

"I _told_ you I didn't have any control over it!" Harry almost yelled. "But you just _had_ to be nasty, didn't you?"

Professor Snape hadn't turned so much as a hair when the lightning had leapt from the young man.

"Detention, Potter. I don't care how much you may hate me, but you _will_ be respectful." Snape said nothing about the lightning itself; the boy had a point.

Harry sat heavily back into his chair. "What did you wish to see us about, sir?" he asked in resigned tones.

"There are school rules against displays of public affection. If you insist on keeping your marriage a secret, I shall be forced to start giving you both detentions. I'm surprised the other teachers have yet to do so."

Harry turned to his husband. "Draco?" he enquired, asking the blond's opinion. He gave a quick glance at his lover's abdomen, as well. Harry knew that witches who became pregnant without the benefit of marriage were looked down upon – especially so since there were simple spells to prevent it, and potions to be bought in Knockturn Alley to get rid of the evidence of indiscretion if one forgot the spells. Draco was neither a witch nor unmarried, but if it became known he was pregnant – well, they _could_ just announce that they had been married long beforehand, but would they be believed? Harry didn't really care, but he knew that Draco cared a great deal about his reputation.

Draco slowly turned his head until their eyes met. There was anguish in his eyes, but slowly he nodded his head. They had been rather carefree in their displays of affection: nothing too physical other than that one time outside the kitchen entrance, but Draco had enjoyed those incidents despite his protestations, and was reluctant to give them up – or force Harry to act contrary to his nature. His husband been subjected to that for too long.

Harry turned back to the professor. He didn't like to be forced into this decision any more than Draco, but he didn't think he'd be able to stop showing Draco how much he cared. "So all we have to do is announce it?" he asked.

"I don't suppose you've registered your union at the Ministry of Magic?" Snape asked, his tone saying that he knew very well that Harry Potter couldn't have done anything so basic.

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head. Why couldn't life be simple?

"Saturday – early – I will accompany both of you to the Department of Registrations," the man said, sounding quite put-upon.

"Yes, sir," Harry and Draco replied.

"Er . . . Sir?" Harry said. "Since we'll be there anyway, do you suppose Draco and I could get our Apparating licenses?"

"You will learn that next year, Potter," the professor said impatiently. "You'll not be old enough until then."

"I'm a legal adult _now_, sir," Harry asserted. "And since Draco is my husband..."

"You _are_ just sixteen, are you not?" Snape demanded.

"Yes, sir. But when I received my inheritance and took over as the Head of the Potter and Black families, I was given adult status a year early," Harry said boldly.

Snape carefully leaned forward and, his elbows on his desk, pressed his palms into his eye sockets. "And I suppose _that_ is on record?" he inquired.

"I would think so, sir. The goblins at Gringotts kept all the papers."

"And those bleeding little buggers are sticklers for the rules," the man grated out.

He looked up suddenly, fixing Harry with an intense glare. "Do you know how?" he demanded.

"No, sir."

"I can teach him, sir," Draco put in.

"Where?" Snape barked out. "Hogwarts is warded against it! And I doubt you're qualified!"

"I know perfectly well how to—"

"Yes, I am aware that Lucius taught you how, but that does not qualify _you_ to teach the method!"

Draco's face flushed in anger. He didn't appreciate his competence being brought into question. But Professor Snape was keeping a jaundiced eye on him, so he kept quiet.

"Could _you_ teach me, sir?" Harry asked.

"I could, Potter, but I won't. You will have to wait with the rest of your classmates."

"The rest of them don't have Voldemort chasing them, sir," Harry said, his voice tight.

o~~~~~~~~~o~~~~~~~~~o

1: Unlike in America, where the ground floor is the first floor, the British, et al, actually call the ground floor the Ground Floor. The first floor is the next one up – the first floor _off_ the ground.

Betas: Ishe-Leigh, Sheree S., Aayesha, Dawn B. Brit Picker: Andy


	17. Chapter 17

**_No Light Without Shadows_**

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Seventeen**

The next day Snape called Harry to his office and informed him, with ill grace, that the headmaster had requested that he teach Harry how to Apparate. He handed Harry an old, thin, hardback book that first described the dangers of Apparating, and then the method, with frequent cautions to the reader to keep each and every step firmly in mind in order to avoid one or more of the dangers described earlier in the book from happening to him or her. The most important thing it said the Apparator needed to keep in mind was a very clear awareness of his or her body.

"When you've read and memorised that book, Potter, we shall address the practical aspects of Apparating," Snape said. His attitude claimed that would be quite some time from now.

Once back in his rooms, Harry voiced a concern he had.

"Quite a coincidence," he said to Draco, "that Dumbledore should request Snape to—"

"_Professor_ Snape," Draco interrupted, correcting his husband.

Harry ignored the correction. "That Dumbledore should request Snape to teach me how to Apparate right after the greasy git refused to, don't you think?"

Draco tilted his head a little as he thought. "It is, a bit," he admitted.

"How do you suppose he does it?"

"Dumbledore?" The blond shrugged. "I don't know."

"If he's spying on Snape, don't you think he might be spying on me?"

"Think awfully highly of yourself, don't you?" Draco teased.

Harry shrugged. "He _was_ upset with me when these rooms were made," Harry pointed out. "And considering what he expects of me..."

That gave Draco pause. It was true. And Harry _was_ important to the old man's plans; his husband was supposed to beat Voldemort, after all. A thought occurred to him. His face red, he asked, "You don't think he'd . . . the bedroom?"

Harry's eyes went wide as his own face turned red. "I certainly hope not," he said fervently.

Scathi trilled from the new perch Harry had purchased for him in Hogsmeade.

Harry's face burned brighter._ He does_, Harry mouthed to Draco.

When Draco would have started cursing the headmaster, Harry – having seen it coming – slapped a hand over his husband's mouth.

"We can use it to our advantage, now we know," he whispered quietly in Draco's ear. But as he remembered some of the things he and Draco had been up to in his rooms, his temper flared and his face turned a fierce red.

Not knowing if Dumbledore had visual as well as listening spells in place, Harry cast a blinding spell on all the walls. With the way his wild magic sometimes acted up, especially when he was angry, it was entirely plausible that it could have disabled a spell or two.

Harry then turned to Scáthfánaí, scolding the phoenix for not informing him of the spy spells before then.

**. . .**

Draco had his own method of making Harry aware of his body shape. He had Harry strip and close his eyes, and told him to envision his own body – every bit of it.

Harry had a little trouble with that at first, having never paid his own body that much attention. As long as it did what he asked of it, he was pleased. Of course he was more aware of some parts of himself than others: such as the scar that was a reminder of his fight with the basilisk, the one that reminded him of the blood stolen from him to bring Voldemort back, and the scar on the back of his hand admonishing him not to tell lies. All of those scars, along with others, were slowly fading away with repeated draughts of the potions, and the applications of creams and ointments that Draco brewed up for him, combined with specific healing spells that the blond had found in his researches. Indeed, many of the minor scars had already disappeared.

Draco might love Harry, but he'd prefer his husband and lover to be without the marring effects of old scars.

But then Draco went to work, slowly and lightly stroking Harry's skin – his back, buttocks, feet, and so on – telling Harry to feel and remember each and every part of himself that Draco touched. This treatment had the expected results of course, as Harry's cock rose straight and tall. But when Harry would have terminated the exercise and taken Draco to bed, the blond took his husband to task for his lack of concentration. Harry looked at Draco expressionlessly, then picked him up and carried him to the bed, ignoring his husband's protestations.

Once on the bed with the curtains drawn, he cast a bubble of silence around it, then turned his attentions back to the blond under him. Until they could find and disable Dumbledore's spying spell, they'd have to do that from now on.

Draco soon forgot his objections, but was just a _little_ bit peeved when he remembered himself afterward. Harry took the bollocking with good grace, and promised to do better. '_Tonight,_' he added in his mind.

By bedtime, Harry was _very_ aware of his own body shape. By morning, a rather rueful Draco felt as though he'd walk bow-legged for the rest of his life, although he'd plumbed Harry's depths as well – at least once.

"Harry!" Blaise greeted him cheerily at breakfast. "So how did it go?"

The fact that Blaise wasn't surprised to see him went a long way towards easing Harry's suspicions about Blaise perhaps being involved in whatever was supposed to have happened at The Three Furies last night. But he ignored his fellow Slytherin's question, and put a cautioning hand on Draco's thigh, trying to still any comments his husband might make.

"Good morning, Blaise," Draco said caustically.

Blaise raised an eyebrow at the blond, but before he could respond, Harry was asking him a question.

"Who told you where that meeting was, anyway?" Harry asked, acting casual.

Blaise was suddenly wearing a tiny, puzzled frown. "Why?" he asked.

"Just curious, really," Harry replied.

Blaise regarded him with a small amount of suspicion. "My mother," he revealed. "As I said yesterday, she asked her boyfriend for me."

Draco snorted scornfully.

"Did you tell her the information was for me?" Harry asked, again trying to wordlessly soothe his husband, stroking the blond's thigh.

"She wouldn't cooperate until I told her why I wanted it," Zabini explained cautiously.

Harry nodded. So either Blaise' mother was a Death Eater or sympathiser, or the board member was.

"I don't believe you've said who her boyfriend is," Harry said, taking a bite of his eggs and acting as though the information wasn't all that important.

"Crandall Trotter," Blaise answered. "Look, Harry," he said with sudden, worried intensity, "did something go wrong last night?"

"Why would you ask that?" Harry inquired after swallowing, his suspicions of Blaise rising again.

"Because I don't believe you'd be asking me those questions if you'd gone and been able to accomplish whatever it was you wanted to accomplish there."

Harry nodded. "You're right," he revealed, his suspicions allayed – for now. "Actually, Snape detained Draco and me, and we found out the board meeting isn't for another two days."

"Oh. But it's at the 'Furies?"

Harry shook his head. "Not even in Aberdeen," he said. Harry was going to keep the actual location secret, just in case Blaise actually was feeding information to Voldemort.

"I thought we were starting to get on," Blaise was muttering to himself, "and the bitch lied to me. Damn it!"

"You're surprised?" Draco muttered.

"Or Trotter lied to her," Harry agreed, while offering an alternative.

Blaise didn't look at all comforted.

After lessons, Harry took Draco back down to Salazar's rooms off the Chamber of Secrets.

"Ah, you brought him this time," the ghost said to Harry.

"Yes, sir," Harry said. "I believe we can do the ritual for your . . . bones, now."

"Boy," Salazar said seriously, "you_ really_ need to learn to be less squeamish."

"See?" Draco said smugly, "I _told_ you!"

"You've never said any such thing!" Harry denied.

"Of course I have! Several times, in fact," Draco asserted.

An old memory gave Harry the clue. "Before we got together," he said, showing his understanding.

"Exactly!" Draco said triumphantly.

He was so smugly proud of himself! Harry had a strong temptation to take the blond over his lap and spank him, but resisted. He didn't know if maybe the pressure on his husband's abdomen might hurt the baby.

"If we could get back to _my_ problem?" Salazar said dryly.

With an effort, Harry turned his attention back to the ghost. "Sorry, sir," he said.

Salazar smirked. "You wanted to spank him, didn't you?" he guessed.

Harry smiled back. "How did you know?"

"You wouldn't dare!" Draco said, outraged.

"If you weren't preggers..." Harry replied with a grin that yet told how serious he was.

"Harry!" Draco exclaimed with a horrified expression at his husband having let slip that information, glancing at Salazar's ghost. But . . . having Harry spank him? It was an oddly appealing notion. He'd hex his husband if he tried it of course, but...

"Learn to live with it, boy," Salazar said. "I've known since the first time you set foot in my rooms."

"After you decided to use me for a bed," Harry added.

Draco blushed. "I was tired," he said, trying to excuse his behaviour. "But you told him?" he added reprovingly.

"I didn't," Harry denied. "He guessed."

"No guessing about it, after I checked. But it's not the first time it's happened. My grandson's helpmate got pregnant, too," Salazar informed Draco. "Had a beautiful little girl."

Interested, Draco asked, "Was it a man?"

Salazar bestowed a rather scornful look on him. "Why would I have mentioned it otherwise? It's nothing unusual for women to have babies."

"Excuse me," Harry said, and left the two to talk while he went to get Salazar's bones.

When he returned, Draco and Salazar were deep in discussion about male wizarding pregnancy amongst elemental wizards of demon-derived ability. Salazar hesitated a moment when he saw the box, but determinedly turned from and ignored it to concentrate on educating the blond on what he could expect.

"Of course birthing can be a bit bloody as the birthing canal opens," the ghost said nonchalantly. "You'll want a medical witch or wizard there to make sure everything goes smoothly of course, but usually it's nothing to worry about."

"Er . . . 'Birthing canal'?" Harry repeated. "Where would that be?"

"Between the legs, of course! Wreaks havoc with getting an erection for awhile afterward, but in a couple of weeks it's closed, all healed up, and the equipment's working fine."

Draco unconsciously pressed his legs tighter together.

"And you would know because . . .?" Harry asked.

It looked for all the world as though the ghost was trying to blush, although his colour didn't change. "Er..."

"You wouldn't happen to have been a 'mother' yourself, would you?" Draco asked knowingly.

"Of course not, boy! Just . . . got curious, is all. Asked a lot of questions that I probably hadn't ought." In fact he'd practically driven his grandson's helpmate to distraction with his questions.

"Uh-huh..." Draco said disbelievingly.

Surprisingly, Salazar didn't take him to task, but the ghost had said nothing but the truth.

"Well?" Salazar said impatiently, changing the subject. "Are you two going to sit around all evening, or are you going to give my poor old bones the funeral they deserve?"

Harry carefully laid out Salazar's skeleton in as close an approximation to its arrangement in life as he could. Not being an anatomist though, and not knowing a spell that would do the job, some bones were merely put in little piles, and it was likely that hand and foot bones, as well as at least a few others, were mixed up in the wrong places. It was times like this when Harry missed Hermione's almost encyclopaedic knowledge.

"What sort of flowers do you like?" Harry asked the ghost. Actually flowers weren't a necessary part of the ritual, but he thought they'd be a nice touch.

Salazar looked askance at Harry, but replied, "Columbine, campion . . . Of course the primrose is nice."

Harry willed his wand into his hand, and conjured a circle of the flowers around the bones.

"Damn me, but I wish I could smell them," the ghost said wistfully.

Harry felt for him; the scent _was_ lovely.

Draco drew his wand and took his place at the head of the skeleton, whilst Harry stood near the feet.

Draco nodded, and they began chanting. They were slightly out of synchronisation for a few words, but quickly picked up the rhythm. Three minutes later a white glow started to develop around the bones. Harry felt some resistance from the magic and poured more power into the chant. It took quite a lot, but not quite enough to tax Harry's strength. Thirty seconds later the brilliantly shining light hit its peak, then quickly decreased, and went out. Where the skeleton had been was now just an empty circle of flowers.

"You've done it, boy," Salazar said to Harry with quiet respect. "You broke the curse."

"What curse?" Draco asked sharply.

"The curse that bound me to these rooms, of course!" Salazar replied in kind. And then he was gone – presumably to explore Hogwarts, since even those ghosts who hadn't had a restricting curse on them were still limited to the building and grounds where they died.

Harry and Draco exchanged glances. Harry shrugged, and then he turned and vanished the flowers. Then Harry sat in Draco's chair and Draco sat on Harry's lap.

Draco leaned in and kissed Harry, Harry's hand gently stroking Draco's abdomen, as he'd taken to doing from time to time, lately.

Harry pulled back a bit. "What did Pomfrey say when you saw her yesterday evening?" he asked.

"Very annoying, that woman," Draco said, snuggling into Harry's neck. "Keeps going on about how 'special' I am. Now if it wasn't the baby she was referring to, I'd agree with her."

Harry smirked, and gave the blond a quick, hard hug to show his agreement. "And the baby?" he inquired.

"Doing fine," Draco replied. "Seems it's developing faster than she expected. Wants me back in two weeks. Daft woman must think I'm stupid. Says the same thing every time. You'd think she'd realise I knew that by now." He'd been seeing the medi-witch every two weeks since the stairs incident, although he sometimes had to return several times before finding her without other patients. Even then, though, he insisted on being seen in her private office to make sure nobody walked in on the examination and discovered his secret.

They occupied themselves with cuddling and some light snogging until Salazar returned – although they didn't know he had until he made a throat-clearing noise.

"The old place has changed quite a lot," Salazar observed as Draco got off Harry's lap and perched on the chair's arm.

"Has it, now?" Harry replied. "Well, it _has_ been over a thousand years. I suppose it would have done."

"Indeed," the ghost agreed. "It's quite a lot larger – and the plumbing is so much better! Most of us used to bathe in the lake, you know."

"Even in the winter?" Draco asked in horrified disbelief.

"The girls, too?" Harry asked.

"Oh, aye," the ghost replied. "Warming spells, you know, though girls and boys bathed on different days, of course. Even so, it was difficult to keep them from spying on each other. Clever little buggers, some of them."

There was something about the ghost's expression...

"You discovered the boy's showers, didn't you?" Draco said with a knowing smirk.

"The girl's, actually," Salazar replied haughtily, but Harry thought he detected a bit of sheepishness as well.

"And someone was in there?" Harry asked, delighted with the discovery of this aspect of the Founder's personality.

"A few," the ghost admitted.

"Which House?" Draco inquired, just to have a dig at him.

"They weren't exactly wearing House colours, were they?" Salazar replied with a fair amount of scorn.

Draco scowled slightly.

"I hope it wasn't the Slytherin showers," Harry said. "Not many worth looking at, there." Realising Draco might misinterpret that remark, Harry added, "But male or female, I got the best in the school," giving Draco a hug.

Draco was pleased with the compliment, but he pretended to ignore it, saying, "After a thousand years, I imagine _anything_ would look good."

The ghost sighed. "It's all intellectual for me though, isn't it?"

Although Harry understood, he laughed at the incongruous mental picture of a ghost trying to have sex with a living person. Draco was smirking, although out of politeness he was trying to hide it.

"Yes, it _is_ funny, isn't it?" Salazar said with gruff humour.

"Sorry, sir," Harry said. "But the thought of a ghost and..." Harry trailed off, his expression becoming something of an apologetic smile, realising that to say any more would be rude.

"Quite all right, lad. I understand. But I believe we had a bargain," Salazar said, changing the subject. "Now as a ghost I can't do the spell myself, but I can instruct your helpmate."

"That would be fine, sir," Harry replied.

For the next hour he sat there listening and learning, and later practising the spell alongside his husband. He might be the recipient of the benefits of it this time, but it might come in handy at a future date. Finally Salazar pronounced that they had learnt it, and that further practise would only refine their casting of the spell – it wouldn't make it any more effective.

Harry stood in front of Draco and grinned. "Fire away, love," he said, despite feeling quite nervous

"Now?" Draco asked. He was trying hard to hide how nervous he was, as well.

"You might want to sit, boy," Salazar suggested to Harry. "It might hit you hard."

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied.

Once seated, he looked at Draco. "Now, Draco," he instructed. "I trust you."

Draco cast the spell one more time at a shadow, imagining Scathi was hiding in it. Actually, the bird was moulting. When his feathers re-grew in a couple of days he'd have his flight feathers, and tail plumage as well – according to him. Then Draco faced Harry, and for the first time in months, Harry saw the Malfoy mask erected against _him_. Harry understood. It was Draco's way of locking up his emotions so he could do what he had to do. But it still made him sad.

Suddenly Draco was tracing the elaborate wand movement Salazar had taught them. _"Obex Expello!1" _he incanted.

A stream of blue, silver and purple light shot from the end of Draco's wand, and hit Harry directly between the eyes.

Draco dropped his wand. "Harry! Are you all right?" he asked, hurrying to his husband's side.

Harry looked up at his blond lover. "Fine, darling," he said with a smile and a faintly puzzled look, just before everything went black.

Harry woke up. He was lying in a very soft, comfortable bed with Draco cuddled up to him as he usually was of a morning. But turning his head, he saw that they were still in Slytherin's sitting room.

Harry nudged his husband. "Draco," he said quietly.

Draco stirred and snuggled in closer to Harry, then stilled as he again started slipping into a deeper sleep.

"Draco!" Harry called again: still quietly, but with more intensity.

"Hm? Harry? _Harry!_" Draco exclaimed, sitting up to stare at him. "You're awake! Are you all right?"

Harry laughed quietly. "I seem to be doing quite well, but why are we sleeping in Slytherin's sitting room?"

Draco hit Harry's shoulder, and then cuddled up, remorseful. "You only passed out on me, didn't you?" he softly exclaimed.

Harry was surprised. "I did? Why?"

"It seems that blockage was blocking a bit more than your magic channels, my boy," Salazar said, floating close.

"Oh?" Harry asked, dread expectations colouring the word.

The ghost looked at Draco. "Want to show him, lad?" he suggested.

"Yes, but I'm not about to show _you_, so if you wouldn't mind?" Draco said meaningfully.

"I'm dead, lad; what's the difference?" Salazar said with a grin, but floated into another room.

Draco quickly slipped out of bed and slipped on his robe, which he'd draped over the foot of it. Harry enjoyed the sight of his husband's almost nude form as he retrieved his robe, then looked around for his own. Spotting it at the foot of the bed as well, he grabbed it and was already slipping it on as he stood up out of bed.

"Dobby!" Draco called out as soon as Harry was decently covered.

A few seconds later . . . *pop!*

"Is Harry Potter's Draco calling for Dobby?" the house elf asked.

Draco's face flushed in anger. "What happened to 'Is Mister Malfoy calling for Dobby'?" Draco demanded.

Dobby stared blankly at the blond, giving the impression that he had no idea what Draco was talking about. But when the blond turned away in disgust, Dobby grinned and winked up at Harry before again assuming a straight face.

It was all Harry could do to not burst out laughing at the house elf's uncharacteristic, but innocent prank.

"Is something wrong, Draco?" Harry asked as soon as he had control of his face.

Draco whirled quickly in place to face his husband. "For the past two days that blasted house elf has been calling me 'Mister Malfoy', but as soon as you wake up..." Draco's sentence trailed off as he noticed a very suspicious twinkle in Harry's eyes.

"Um . . . You wanted to impress me because Dobby was listening to you?" Harry asked, and then couldn't help it as he broke out in a wide grin.

Draco's glare could have lit a fire, it was so hot. "Fine! Make sport of me, then!" he fumed.

But Harry had just become far more sombre as the phrase 'the past two days' finally made an impact on him.

"Two days?" Harry asked, concerned. "We've been down here two days?"

"Yes," Draco said shortly, before turning to the house elf.

"Breakfast, Dobby. Eggs, ham, beans, fried potatoes, fried mushrooms, and fried tomatoes, buttered toast and coffee for Mister Potter: coddled eggs, toast and tea for me," he ordered.

"Hold on, Dobby," Harry said, eyeing his husband.

"Draco, that is nowhere near enough," he remonstrated with the blond. "You need to be eating more."

"It's all I need," Draco replied dismissively.

"Don't make me tell Pomfrey," Harry threatened.

Draco glared at his husband.

"Dobby!" he said sharply, not taking his eyes off Harry. "Add a bowl of fruit to my breakfast."

"Satisfied?" he snarled.

Harry met Draco's glare with equanimity. "No," he replied calmly, "but it will do for now."

Draco turned his temper on Dobby. "Well?" he snarled.

Dobby made a sound something like 'eep', and popped out.

"Don't take your temper out on him when you're angry with me," Harry said sternly.

Draco glared at him again, and then all the fight went out of him. Crossing over to his husband, he cuddled up to Harry and laid his head on Harry's shoulder.

Something felt off. "Um . . . Draco? Have I grown again?" Harry asked.

Draco sighed, and looked up into his husband's eyes. "Among other things, yes," he replied. "About two inches, I think."

"What other things?"

"Your hair has grown, there's a white streak starting to grow in it – just above your scar – and, ah . . . your ears."

"My ears?" Harry repeated, reaching up to feel of them. They felt fine – except there was more to them.

"Draco," Harry said carefully, "are my ears . . . _pointed?_"

The blond nodded solemnly. "Salazar says that it appears you're part Dark Elf."

"Dark Elf. Right."

"Would you like to see?" Draco asked.

"I think I'd best," Harry replied, too calmly.

Draco had misgivings, but led Harry to a cupboard. The mirrored surface on the other side of the cupboard door wasn't full length, but Harry could see himself from the chest up.

Draco felt Harry's magic levels increasing. "Harry . . . control yourself?" he said hesitantly.

A wind began to blow, and picked up in intensity.

"Harry!" Draco called out as his husband just stood there staring at him, an inscrutable expression on his face.

"Get out in the Chamber, boy!" Salazar yelled as he came into the room, having felt the increased thaumaturgic energy, too. "It's built to take it!"

Draco didn't wait for Harry to react. He grabbed Harry's arm and started dragging him towards the outside corridor, and then towards the Chamber. Once he had his husband well into the huge room, he stood a second to see if his lover had come to his senses yet, and then fled back towards the corridor out of which they'd just come.

Once safely back inside Merlin's mouth, Draco turned and watched fearfully as Harry started shooting off sparks. Then small flashes of lightning shot from him, and then larger and larger bolts of lightning, until it seemed the whole room was filled with lightning. And yet strangely, none of it came within ten metres of the entryway in which Draco stood. And during it all, Salazar's ghost hovered close to Harry, talking to him, instructing him how to control the energy he was wielding, even as bolt after bolt of lightning shot through him.

A trill hit Draco's ears, although he barely heard it over the noise all the lightning was making. He looked around briefly, then looked back to his husband. "Hello, Scathi," he said somewhat absently, not taking his eyes from the tableau in the large room. "Harry really hates to be different," he said. "Before now, his differences couldn't be seen. Now, I'm afraid, some of them can be."

Scathi trilled again.

"I really wish I could understand you," Draco said.

Scathi regarded his master's mate, then searched out the bond link to Draco in Harry's mind. After studying it for a while, he came to the reluctant conclusion that it was unsuitable. He had hoped to 'echo' the meaning of his communications from Harry to the blond.

But Scathi had seen that the energies in his master's mind that had heretofore been penned were now free. He had known Harry wasn't completely human, but now he knew in what way.

Suddenly the lightning blasts stopped. Draco waited a few seconds to see if there would be strays, and then called out. "Harry?"

"A moment, lad," Salazar's ghost called back.

Harry sank slowly to his knees.

It couldn't have been more than thirty seconds later that Salazar called out that it was now safe to approach, but it seemed like ages to Draco. He hurried out to Harry's side.

"Harry?" he said tentatively.

Harry sounded tired as he replied, "Yes, love."

"You're all right, then?"

"Yes."

His anxieties about Harry's well-being satisfied, Draco became angry over the scare Harry had given him, and he clipped his husband around the ear. "What the hell was that, then?" he ranted. "Had yourself a nice ickle temper tantrum, did you? What in Merlin's name did you think you were fucking doing? You stupid arse! You could have fucking well killed yourself! **When** are you going to learn to control your temper? Huh? You're _still_ a bloody Griffindork! Never thinking of the bleeding consequences! And over what? Pointy fucking ears?"

Harry stared at his husband, eyes wide, mouth open as he listened to Draco going on and on at him, and then the absurdity of it hit him, and he started laughing.

o~~~~~~~~~o~~~~~~~~~o

1: Banish Barriers

Betas: Dawn B., Sheree S., Aayesha Brit picker: Andy


	18. Chapter 18

**_No Light Without Shadows_**

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Eighteen**

" . . .so if your magic hadn't been blocked," Salazar was saying, "then this might not have happened. A natural flow would likely have left these traits unexpressed, but the sudden release carried them to the fore: rather like a boulder withstanding the efforts of a stream until a massive flood comes along."

Harry didn't say anything; he just glared petulantly at the ghost. Right at the moment, he could identify with Roman emperors who killed the bearer of bad news.

Too bad Salazar was already dead.

Harry's recovery from the initial shock and reaction to his apparent change of species had been helped along by Salazar Slytherin's snide comments, and then the concentration he had to use as the ghost taught him how to 'turn off' the flow of elemental power that shock had freed. Salazar had informed him that learning how to both loose and rein in the power would take only a short while, but it would take much longer to learn to be able to control such things as intensity and aim of the lightning – and that if he had other elemental abilities, they should come in short order, now. Harry would need to work hard to learn that aspect of his power so that he wouldn't be overwhelmed by too many uncontrolled abilities at once; and above all, he would need to rein in his temper until he _had_ that control.

Draco's rant atop that lecture had triggered Harry's somewhat hysterical laughter and calmed him down somewhat.

Harry got to his feet and swept Draco into his arms. He just held his husband tight, thanking Fate – or whoever – for Draco's loving, if sometimes acerbic presence in his life, while his gaze swept the Chamber of Secrets once again. Such a _huge_ room. Despite feeling more than a bit emotionally drained, and since he now had someone he could ask about it, he said as much to Salazar's ghost.

"All of this, then, to house a basilisk?" Harry inquired, shoving everything else aside for now. He needed something less personally consequential to talk about.

Salazar started. "What? Of course not, boy! This is the physical training arena. Spell-casting and elemental training as well, of course."

"So that's what you meant when you said it was built to take it?" Draco asked. He kept close, but he stepped out of Harry's embrace, still breathing a bit quickly from reaction to his own, verbal, temper tantrum.

"Of course!" Salazar said impatiently.

"But . . . 'Hogwarts: A History' says you kept a basilisk down here," Harry said querulously. He hadn't read it himself, but Hermione had been more than happy to point out salient facts about various points of the castle and its history – at least, salient to _her_.

"Then the writer lied, lad. They're too bleeding dangerous. One moment of absent-mindedness, you look at it, and you're dead. And how, I'd like to know, would one work with or train one without looking at it? I _did_ work with a variety of snakes, including the asp and runespoor, but I wasn't bloody stupid enough to work with basilisks."

"Is that the reason for all the snakes?" Harry asked, referring to the snake-entwined columns and other carvings.

"This _was_ my contribution, yes," Slytherin said proudly, looking about at the Chamber.

"It's flooded," Draco said flatly.

"I _did_ notice that," Salazar replied dryly. "If you wish to make best use of the facilities, you'll need to fix that."

"Me?" Draco protested.

But before Salazar could reply, another voice spoke out.

"Master Harry?" came Dobby's voice, from where he was standing respectfully just inside the Chamber. "Your food is being ready."

"May we discuss this while we breakfast?" Draco demanded peevishly.

"How did Riddle manage it then?" Harry asked the ghost, turning to accompany his husband as they walked to breakfast. "Training a basilisk, I mean."

"Haven't a clue, lad; stuck in my rooms, wasn't I? Quite a huge beast, though," Salazar added, having seen it pass his rooms many times on its way to the Chamber.

Harry shuddered. "It was, at that," he agreed.

"You saw it?" Salazar asked in surprise.

"Harry killed it," Draco said, quiet pride in his voice. Harry's hug had calmed him down somewhat, but despite some lingering upset, he still admired his husband's accomplishment.

"Wondered why the thing never left, last time," Salazar muttered as his eyebrows arched in surprise. "Thought I'd missed it." The boy would have been very young indeed, at that time. About three, four years ago, wasn't it? He wished his sense of time was better.

"Only after Fawkes blinded it," Harry said in response to Draco's brag, demurring full credit. "And it almost killed me even then. One of its fangs broke off in my arm. It _would_ have done for me, if Fawkes hadn't healed me."

"Who is Fawkes?" the ghost inquired.

"Dumbledore's phoenix," Harry explained.

"Ah! Phoenix tears," the ghost said in understanding. Nothing else – in his time, at least – would have been able to heal a basilisk bite. But his respect for this young man was growing. It would have been a feat for a grown man to rightfully brag of, and yet this youth was demurring that right.

"That's right," Harry said, his mouth starting to salivate as the smells of the hot breakfast hit his nose. He was suddenly aware of being extremely hungry: not surprising, if he'd actually grown as much as Draco thought he had, let alone having been asleep for two days. Actually, now that he was thinking about it, his robes _did_ seem to be fitting poorly – his wrists sticking out of the sleeves further than they should, and the shoulders fitting a little too snugly.

Dobby had, somehow, brought and set up a small table with a couple of chairs, and their meals were sitting on a plain tablecloth, Harry's sending up gentle waves of steam.

Harry seated himself, but hesitated. "I'm sorry to be eating in front of you, sir, but..." Harry shrugged.

Draco blushed slightly, having already tucked into his bowl of fruit, but otherwise gave no indication of hearing. It would never have occured to him to appoligise to a _ghost_ for such a thing.

Salazar chuckled. "I don't exactly have the teeth to chew with, nor a stomach to put it in," the ghost said understandingly.

Draco gave a short, sharp nod to himself, feeling vindicated.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, attacking his meal voraciously.

"Manners, Harry!" Draco said reprovingly.

It was a bit hypocritical of him, but it also distracted from his own almost-faux-pas.

Harry swallowed the mouthful he had before answering. "_You_ go two days without eating: **then** if you've the same control, I'll listen." He didn't wait for a reply before again going after the food on his plate.

Draco fumed. Of _course_ he'd have the same control! He was a _Malfoy!_

Until tomorrow, he suddenly realised. He – _they_ – were registering their marriage at the Ministry tomorrow. As the pregnant party, the magic would recognise him as the 'wife' in their relationship even were everyone in the wizarding world to swear otherwise. Until his father and grandfather, Draco was proud of the history of the Malfoy family, though most of that family was Dark. It wasn't the Dark aspects Draco had despised, but rather bowing down and toadying to someone without even half the prestige. Power was nothing if you weren't allowed your dignity.

Harry had allowed Draco his dignity – at least where others could see. And Draco didn't mind what they did in private. He smirked slightly at some of the memories.

All the same, he was almost glad that none of his family were alive to see him come to this: none he cared about, anyway. He wasn't ashamed of their relationship, but...

Harry, in his own mind, was trying to think of how they were going to handle the consequences of their two-day disappearance, never mind explaining it, and what they might have to do – which reminded him of a quite important peripheral matter.

"Shite! The school Governors meeting is tonight!"

Still lost in his own thoughts, Draco mumbled something that might have been, "Bloody elf..."

Harry felt a strong wave of resentment that he'd been reminded of his no longer quite human status, but otherwise ignored the comment. Come to that, he realised, he never would have been completely human, even if he looked it. The thought was depressing. But getting depressed wouldn't be productive, so Harry made an effort and shook off the mood, turning to other matters.

"Salazar," he said, addressing the ghost, "when you were living down here, how did you get up into the school?" He, of course, could shadow walk to and fro, but if Draco needed to come or go without him...

Salazar gave a sly grin. "Well, lad, I had a private stairway, didn't I? Of course there is – or was – a large entrance as well, for the students."

"I've been through this entire apartment, the corridors outside, _and_ Harry and I explored almost every tunnel out in the Chamber," Draco protested. "Where the bloody hell are they?"

"Language, lad!" Salazar objected.

Draco sat there fuming and glaring at the ghost. "Don't you give me that," he said, glowering. "You _know_ how..." He stopped, glancing at Harry, who was obviously paying very close attention. He was still miffed with his husband, and wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd been worried about him. He settled on saying, "I could have gone to get us a change of clothing.".

"Is _that_ what it was," Salazar mused sarcastically. "And all that wailing and worrying and gnashing of teeth you did about getting help for Harry was just a smoke screen, then?"

Harry smirked. "Aw . . . were you worried about me?" he cooed at his husband.

Draco glared at him, and then gave into the temptation and aimed a slap at the side of Harry's head. But it wasn't there when the blow should have landed, and Harry was leaning back in his chair, laughing at him.

Ignoring Draco's continued glare, Harry looked at a very amused Salazar. "So where do you hide this entrance, then?" he asked.

Salazar nodded at a wall sconce – one of many – that depicted a serpent poised to strike, its body curled around the pillar candle. Harry's house elves had to replace every one of the candles, since even the unburnt ones had become desiccated.

"Tap its head twice with your wand, then stick your wand in its mouth," the ghost instructed him.

"And why didn't you tell _me_ this?" Draco asked frostily.

"To begin with, lad, you didn't ask," Salazar replied with a smirk, "and since Mister Potter, here, wasn't in any danger and you had house elves taking care of your needs, you didn't need it, did you?"

"So where is this so-called 'large' entrance for the students?" Draco asked, more than a little sarcasm colouring his tone. Most of his needs might have been taken care of, but he'd had to venture outside to answer the call of nature and to bathe in the rocky pool under the waterfall. Only warming charms had kept him from being totally miserable in it. Fortunately he knew some cleaning spells for his accoutrements.

"I have trouble saying, unfortunately," Salazar replied thoughtfully. "I did notice it was missing, but I've not yet investigated the matter."

Draco took this to mean that the ghost hadn't cared at all that they were stuck down there. "You _do_ realise the amount of trouble we're likely in?" he stridently inquired.

"Little to none, I'd think, once they see Harry's ears," the ghost replied.

Harry glared at the ghost, but didn't say anything. He'd really rather not have the school population know of this. He hated being the centre of attention, and Harry was sure that being a dark elf – even if only partially so – would cause exactly that.

Harry reminded himself that he still needed to research what a dark elf _was_, exactly. He could ask Salazar, but Harry was feeling the need to make their presence known in the school as soon as possible.

"I'm a _prefect!_ I have _duties!_ And I've _missed_ them!" Draco exclaimed tensely, one hand pointing out the rather obvious badge on his robe. "They'll think I was shirking! And where, might I inquire, are we supposed to tell them we've been?" he demanded.

"I take it the truth wouldn't do?" Salazar inquired, looking only mildly interested.

"I'd rather not," Harry said, breaking in. "I'd prefer to be able to use this place secretly."

The old ghost looked puzzled. "Why?"

"I _have_ told you of Voldemort, Dumbledore, and the bloody useless Ministry of Magic?" Harry inquired.

"And that prophecy for which, from what you've told me, you've only your headmaster's word," Salazar acknowledged.

That gave Harry pause. "You have a point," he said thoughtfully. "But I really can't see any other reason Voldemort would have come after me."

He shook his head, as if physically shaking those thoughts from his mind. "We can discuss that at another time. Draco's right; we really do need to be getting back."

"I _do_ wish I could hide these bloody things, though," Harry added, referring to his ears.

"Use an illusion spell, lad," Salazar replied.

"Love to, but I don't know any," Harry replied in turn, sending a questioning look at Draco.

"A couple," Draco said, answering Harry's unvoiced question, "but none that are effective on living beings. Father was going to teach me some this past summer, but..."

But Lucius had been arrested, along with his compatriots, for breaking into the Department of Mysteries and attempting to steal a prophecy, along with other related crimes. Although Draco had been upset by his father's imprisonment, he hadn't been looking forward to his harsh teaching methods. And then, of course, old Snake Face had to try to recruit him. Draco scowled at the memory.

"The quality of education truly _has_ decreased," Salazar mused, leading both teenagers to wonder what the curriculum may have once been like.

"Try 'Vulticulus Novo'1," the ghost instructed. "Since you'll be casting it on yourself, I'd suggest using a mirror. Picture clearly what you wish to project, and then cast the spell."

"I've heard of that," Draco said, looking as though he was dredging up a very old memory. "Or rather, I think I read a mention of it somewhere."

"Do you remember anything else about it?" Harry asked.

Draco shook his head, sending his husband an apologetic look. "I'm afraid not," he said. "I don't believe there _was_ anything else: just the name of the spell in passing while talking about something else entirely."

Ten minutes of instruction and an hour of practise later, with additional coaching from Salazar, Harry again looked like his old self. Draco had practised the spell as well of course, for a variety of reasons, only one of which was disguise. He'd be able to hide his growing belly, and was looking forward to 'pranking' a few very obnoxious people, although he thought of it as 'teaching a lesson' or 'revenge'.

"Thank you, Salazar," Harry said. "And now we really must be rejoining the rest of the school."

"And what are we going to tell them?" Draco asked again.

Harry frowned. "I don't know," he admitted.

"Wait," Harry exclaimed as inspiration hit him. "How about this, then? We were out in the forest, and I got hexed. Only . . . only it collided with the Expelliarmus I cast, and it knocked me out. Being in the forest, Draco didn't dare leave me to get help!"

"If you cast a spell, Harry, at whom were you casting it?" Draco asked doubtfully.

"A Death Eater?"

"Oh? Yes, then? What colour was the spell cast at you?"

"Ah . . . I think there were a few colours, but the only one I can recall is a light yellow. I didn't have time to study it."

"Make it a muddy purple," Draco instructed. "But what was _I_ doing?"

"You were inspecting a plant you thought you could use in potions," Harry expounded, getting into the weaving of the tale, "and didn't see anything until I yelled a warning. All you saw was the magical explosion as the spells collided. You cast a spell at the Death Eater, and they ran away."

"Sounds very weak to me, Harry," Draco observed, although he liked that he was cast as the hero. "I'm almost ashamed to call you a Slytherin."

Harry made a face at him. "Well, I haven't the practice at it you lot have, do I?"

Draco eyed his husband sadly. "Harry, a _First Year_ Slytherin could do better!"

"Well then, _you_ come up with something!" Harry said peevishly.

With that he walked over to the wall sconce and, using his legal wand, tapped the snake head as he'd been directed, then stuck his wand in its mouth. For a second nothing happened, then a section of wall separated, opening up to either side and revealing a tightly winding spiral staircase.

"It wasn't _that_ bad a tale, lad," Salazar told Draco sternly, "although it could use some polishing."

Draco didn't reply, determinedly making his way for the staircase. He started when it began rotating as his foot hit the second step, and clung tightly to the railing as the stairs carried him upwards.

"Nothing to worry about, Draco," Harry reassured him as he also stepped onto the stairs. "Dumbledore's does this, too."

Draco didn't reply as he was fighting a slight disorientation caused by the moving stairs. Even now, however, it was weakening as Salazar's reprimand leeched into his mind.

The light quickly disappeared, and Harry cast a lightly powered 'Lumos' on his wand, as had Draco. A few seconds later the stairs deposited them in a small room, about four feet square. Not having to use mortal means of transportation, Salazar was awaiting them.

"The password is 'Mister Perkins' daring deed'," the ghost informed them.

Not stopping to wonder about it, Harry addressed the wall the ghost had indicated and spoke the password.

The wall opened into what appeared to be an unused storage cupboard. Harry tapped the opening with his wand, and it disappeared without a trace. Upon exiting the door of that cupboard, Harry and Draco found themselves in a familiar corridor on the ground floor in the rear of the castle. They had used it often to get to the greenhouses for Herbology.

Draco made close note of the location of the cupboard. He saw that Harry was doing the same. Too, Draco was starting to wonder if he _had_ been too harsh. He didn't apologise, but he did snuggle up to Harry for a quick hug.

Harry understood, and hugged his husband back, forgiving him.

"Thank you, Salazar," Harry said.

"I'll be around, lad," the ghost replied.

Both young men nodded in acknowledgement, then quickly walked off towards the entrance to _their_ dungeons, on the other side of the castle.

They wound up using Harry's story, although Draco elaborated on it, making changes where he thought it necessary. Unfortunately for them, nobody seemed to believe it. But when both Harry and Draco refused to budge from their tale, the matter was dropped. That is, the matter of their _story_ was dropped. Neither Dumbledore nor Professor Snape were the least happy with them for their disappearance, and they received a long lecture about what lengths had been gone to, to search for them, and the dangers of going off alone without informing anyone of their destination.

Professor Snape gave them both a week's worth of detentions, and Professor Dumbledore took thirty points off Slytherin for each of them, which had all three Slytherins glaring at the old man.

Albus Dumbledore sadly watched his former protégé leave his office. He had slowly and reluctantly come to the conclusion that Harry probably had cause to distrust him. In his own mind he had only done what he thought best, but that hadn't always necessarily meant what was best for Harry, although he had thought he'd minimised any negative side-effects. In retrospect though, it might have been better to have kept a closer eye on young Mister Potter's progress with his Muggle relatives – looked in to see how he was doing every six months or so.

And he did so love knowing things that other people didn't. It was so amusing to see them floundering or making fools of themselves. But perhaps he should have restrained that penchant of his, at least a little.

It did appear as though Harry was keeping his own secrets, though. The old illusion spell the young man had used was good, but the talent for being able to see through illusions ran in Albus' family. It had skipped several of his family members, but he seemed to have received a double portion.

"You'll be washing out cauldrons tonight, Mister Potter," Professor Snape snarled back at his least favourite House member as he strode quickly and purposefully ahead of them towards the dungeons, "and without the use of magic."

Draco watched the professor's robes billow jealously. He'd been trying for years to get his own robes to do the same thing.

"You, Mister Malfoy—"

"I'm afraid tonight is out of the question, sir," Harry interrupted grimly.

Snape came to an abrupt stop, almost causing Harry and Draco to run into him. He pivoted to face them.

"What did you say, Mister Potter?" he almost purred.

"I've a school governors meeting to attend tonight," Harry explained.

"You won't be attending," the professor replied with some satisfaction.

Draco spoke up. "Didn't Father have an assistant that was fired from the Ministry for interfering with—"

Snape snarled at him, half-raising a hand in threat.

Harry stepped between them. "That wouldn't be a good idea, sir," he said, his eyes now golden, his voice tense. He held himself in check by only the slimmest of margins. He and Draco were already in enough trouble.

"Harry!" Draco protested, stepping out from behind his husband. He appreciated Harry wanting to protect him, but really! He could take care of himself! He had been more than a bit surprised that his Head of House would raise a hand to him however, and was quite reasonably incensed about it.

"Are you threatening me, Potter?"

"Are you sure you want to push me, sir?" Harry inquired tautly. "You'll not lay a hand on him." Harry again fought down his temper, then said, "And while I'm willing to do the detentions, it will be only when they do not interfere with my duties as the Head of three family lines."

Snape smirked triumphantly. "That, Mister Potter, just earned you another week of detentions," he said.

Harry glared, and sparks danced off his fingertips, causing Snape to take a cautious half-step backwards, reaching for his wand, before he remembered himself and drew himself up imperiously.

"I expected nothing less of you, sir," Harry said in a carefully neutral voice, "but I _will_ be attending to my duties, regardless."

Severus stared at the boy in bemusement, then wordlessly turned and walked off down the corridor, forgetting to set Draco's detention. When he recalled it later, the blond was set to polishing the trophies in the trophy room.

Harry walked into the room where the Hogwarts Board of Governors meeting was to take place, and immediately had the room's occupants' attention.

"Here, now!" one man blustered. "What's this, then? This isn't one of your classrooms, child!"

"Firstly, sir," Harry replied, already insulted at having been called a child, "I am the head of three families, despite my youth. I am here to assume one of the duties I have inherited."

He held up his hands to show them the signet rings when their expressions showed their scepticism. After their acknowledgment of his right to be there, plus some shock and questioning about the Dæmentelen ring, Harry spoke out. "Who here is sitting the Potter seat on this board?"

"I am," another man announced. "But I was under the impression that you were still under age?"

"I am sixteen, but was granted adult status when I inherited the family mantles," Harry explained, determined to remain calm until he had sussed out the facts. Was the man complicit in usurping Harry's seat on the board, or an innocent man manipulated by Dumbledore?

"May I inquire as to your identity, sir?" Harry asked.

"My apologies. I am Robert Humphries," the man replied.

"Thank you, Mister Humphries; but may I ask why you have never consulted with me?" Harry realised the answer as soon as he'd asked the question; he was underage, and therefore his opinions could be ignored. However, politeness should have indicated at least a token meeting between them at some point.

Mister Humphries looked perplexed. "Professor Dumbledore has been relaying your opinions to me," he said uncertainly.

Harry was surprised to not have his age thrown in his face. Perhaps he _should_ have been consulted? He would act on that assumption, anyway.

"That he has not, si—" He was interrupted.

"Mister Potter?" It was the headmaster, just arriving.

Harry swivelled around, his eyes giving off a metallic glint. "We were just discussing you, sir," Harry revealed. "Curiously, Mister Humphries seems to be of the opinion that you have been relaying my opinions of school policy to him. Of course that would presume that you had been keeping me informed." Harry's voice took on a decidedly chilly tone with that last sentence.

Albus waved one hand dismissively. "Just a misunderstanding, I'm sure," he said.

"No, sir. No misunderstanding," Mister Humphries interjected firmly, looking askance at the old man.

"What is going on here, Albus?" one of the few women in the group demanded.

Harry eyed the headmaster intently, wondering how the old man was going to try to squirm out of this situation.

Smiling benignly, Professor Dumbledore replied, "As I said, Mrs Fieldling, it is nothing – a trifle."

"When _would_ you have informed me that I owned a seat on this board, sir?" Harry asked, his voice deepening with his growing anger.

"You weren't even aware of _that_ fact?" Mister Humphries exclaimed.

"I had to find out from my inheritance papers," Harry replied, not taking his eyes from the headmaster.

"After taking care of your affairs for so many years, my dear boy, it became habit," Albus said. "I'm afraid that it didn't occur to me: a mere oversight."

Harry gave him a glare that said almost as clearly as words, 'You're a liar, but I'll let it go, for now.' He needed to stay under control. To do otherwise would say to the other Governors that he was the immature child he had been taken for when he entered. His influence on the board depended on them accepting him as an equal.

A few noticed that his eyes had gone golden, reinforcing the young man's claim to the mantle of the Dæmentelin family. His control of his temper reassured them however, calming any incipient fears.

"I must offer my most sincere apologies, Mister Potter," Mister Humphries said sincerely. "I had no idea."

Harry abruptly turned to the man and smiled graciously. "I'm quite sure of that, sir," he said, extending his hand.

The implication of his words did not escape most of those present – that Albus Dumbledore was in the habit of doing similar things.

Mister Humphries accepted it and shook Harry's hand, adding a small bow, and grateful that he had not been implicated in the blame. "If you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way, then. It has been a pleasure to meet you, Mister Potter," he said.

"And you, sir. It is always a pleasure to meet an honest man, Mister Humphries," Harry replied.

The man's expression relaxed at this indication that Harry didn't hold him culpable.

Someone cleared their throat. "If we can bring this meeting to order, then?" a man said.

After the round of introductions at the beginning of the meeting, Harry had also kept a close eye on Crandall Trotter, while trying to appear not to do so. He had caught the man's shifty gaze on him a few times, accompanied by the faintest of sneers. The man's attitude certainly bespoke animosity, and fit with someone who had something to hide.

As was to be expected, Harry was out of his depth in the meeting, but didn't hesitate to ask for clarifications and explanations when necessary. When it came to votes, Harry added his, except where he felt there were peripheral issues and ramifications that he didn't understand as yet. He also abstained from voting when the rest of the board brought up the issue of investigating the ethics of Albus Dumbledore's actions regarding Harry's seat on the board of Governors.

The headmaster remained stonily silent during that portion of the meeting, his eyes boring into Harry, or attempting to solicit sympathetic support from the board members with looks of injured dignity.

When the Chairman asked them all if they had any suggestions or concerns, Harry suggested that the Governors be the body to investigate, interview, and hire new teachers, rather that the headmaster. When asked his reasons, and despite Professor Dumbledore's attempts to redirect the board towards other subjects (for which he was reprimanded), Harry brought up the problems with the DADA professors over the years, as well as Professors Binns and Trelawney. True, Trelawney was no longer a present issue, but she was indicative of the problem.

"Only a few die-hard scholars have been able to refrain from going to sleep in that class, he's so boring," Harry said of Binns.

"It's not because he's a ghost, then?" one board member asked.

"Not at all," Harry professed. "I've had some very interesting conversations with Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington – better known as 'Nearless Headless Nick' – and a few other ghosts." Nods of the head from some indicated their recognition of the nickname, even if they hadn't known the ghost's proper name. Harry didn't know if Salazar wanted his presence known as yet, and so kept quiet about him. "Professor Binns, I'm afraid, just drones on and on, making no effort to make the material interesting."

Having had experience of the ghost's lessons themselves as children, several of the board members nodded in understanding.

"We shall take the matter under advisement, and discuss it at the next meeting," the Chair said.

Not having any experience to base an opinion on, Harry still thought that the Governors meeting last night, with the exception of their decision to investigate Headmaster Dumbledore (with which decision Harry was very pleased), was likely typical. Most of the meeting had to do with funding, ways of reducing costs, do we really need _that_ many house elves, and so on.

Now they were walking down a corridor on the fifth sublevel of the Ministry of Magic towards the Department of Records.

"Draco can take his Apparating test, anyway," Harry argued. "Once our marriage is registered, he'll also have adult status. And as my spouse, he might have need of the ability if someone decided to go after him again or, the gods forefend, some Death Eater tried to kidnap him. I'd hate him being locked away because he wasn't licensed."

Snape hesitated, then gave one sharp nod.

Draco put a hand on Harry's arm to get his attention, then stopped. Harry looked at him curiously.

"I want a ceremony, Potter," Draco told him.

Harry opened his mouth to object, but the words didn't come. Instead, he nodded. It was a small enough thing, and he'd feel more married that way, too.

"Stop your dawdling, Potter!" Snape snapped out as soon as he noticed he wasn't being followed.

Harry glared at the man, but pressed his lips tightly together. For awhile yet, at least, they needed Snape's cooperation.

Twenty minutes later, after being tested by the clerk to make sure that a bond did exist, they started filling out the simple paperwork.

"Do you recall the date we bonded?" Harry asked Draco. "The twenty-first of August, wasn't it?"

"The eighteenth, Potter," Draco corrected reproachfully. He could hardly forget; it was burnt into his memory.

"Oh. Sorry."

When the paperwork was complete they requested a civil ceremony, and soon Harry and Draco were saying their vows. But this time was purposeful, and they were able to internalise the fact of their wedding.

The ceremony was over, and though it wasn't a part of wizarding marriage ceremonies as it was in most Muggle traditions, Harry kissed his husband quite thoroughly. If it wasn't for Snape's irritable throat-clearing, it might have gone on for some time.

Soon after receiving their copies of their marriage registration, they headed down to the Apparation testing site, where Draco passed the test with ease, and received his license.

o~~~~~~~~~o~~~~~~~~~o

Vulticulus Novo: Alter Appearance – an illusion spell

A/N: Idea for Chamber of Secrets to be a magical/physical training area provided by Andy S. – my Brit-picker

Betas: Dream Howler, Sheree S., Dawn B., Ishe-Leigh, Aayesha

Brit-picker: Andy


	19. Chapter 19

**No Light Without Shadows**

by Draeconin

See Chapter One for disclaimer and details.

Chapter Nineteen

Dumbledore was . . . disgruntled. Yes, he decided as he tucked into his meal, that word described his mood to a 'T'. His Golden Boy, the child he'd groomed for so many years, had slipped his leash – and the headmaster was anything but pleased about it. He had thought that he would have been able to make the boy feel guilty enough to come to heel, but it hadn't happened. If anything, his tactics seemed to have backfired on him. He frowned, then his expression morphed, attaining a genial joviality he really didn't feel.

"My," he remarked to Minerva, "the house elves really outdid themselves today, didn't they?"

* * *

><p>"What," Pansy asked grimly, "is that?"<p>

They had been exchanging small talk at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall at lunch when a glint of light off metal had drawn Pansy's attention to Draco's left hand.

Following her glare, Draco saw what her gaze was fixated on, and surprised the few who were watching with a rather misty smile. It morphed into a more usual superior smirk as he looked back up to meet Pansy's gaze – an expression they were far more used to.

"My wedding ring, of course," Draco replied with slightly malicious smugness.

That statement drew the attention of several others within hearing distance, although most of those were savvy enough to pretend not to be listening in.

"I know you think you're queer, dear," Pansy said smarmily, "but are you telling me you actually married that speccy git?"

Draco ignored the insults and replied, "Quite some time ago, actually. We just got around to registering it today."

"And, my dear," Draco said sarcastically, "perhaps it is you who needs spectacles. Harry hasn't worn them at all this year."

Pansy ignored Draco's last comment while inwardly acknowledging the truth of it, and addressed herself to the marriage issue.

"You're too young," the girl said flatly. "And so is Potter."

"We bonded," Draco replied with a practised shrug that said it was a minor thing, all the while knowing it was anything but minor.

"You bonded," Pansy echoed emotionlessly.

"You bonded," she repeated doubtfully. "Willingly?" the girl asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"It was a bit of an accident, actually," Draco replied nonchalantly.

"And you didn't tell your best friend about this so-called 'marriage'? Why?" She was almost sure Draco was having her on. At least she was going to act on that assumption.

"It just rather . . . happened," Draco replied. "I don't think you would have wished to be there. We weren't exactly in a fit state for guests."

"Very romantic, I'm sure," Pansy said dryly.

Anything but, Draco thought, but nodded his agreement anyway. A lust-driven vow while in the act of being very thoroughly buggered was hardly romantic. But so far he'd managed not to speak an outright lie.

"Harry's rather . . . masterful," he said out loud. Draco couldn't help but melt a bit at some of the memories that statement evoked, but he rapidly brought himself back under control.

"Simply swept you off your feet, did he?" the blonde girl inquired, finally allowing a hint of doubt and sarcasm into her voice.

Draco didn't miss it. "Why Pansy, dear – are you doubting my word?"

Draco's tone and the glint in his eyes warned Pansy that she was in danger of overstepping her limits. Those people Draco considered 'friends' had a little more leeway with him, but friends or no, Draco wouldn't hesitate to hex someone who ignored his warning and continued to vex him.

"You know I'd never call you a liar to your face, Draco," the girl said with saccharine sweetness.

Harry walked up behind the two at the end of the Slytherin table furthest from the Head Table where the most important Slytherins sat – where they had the least chance of being overheard by authority. This was exactly opposite the places of honour for the other three houses, who saw being close to the Head Table as being more indicative of importance.

"See that you don't at any other time either, 'dear'," Draco sneered. "You wouldn't like me after I heard about it." He didn't need to add that, with his connexions, he would hear about any such thing, and likely sooner rather than later.

Harry had just been to give Mister Weasley a floo-call to inform him of his and Draco's circumstances, explaining that the bond had been deemed a marriage. Since it was now registered at the Ministry, word would quickly spread, and Harry had wanted to break the news before the grapevine distorted things all out of proportion. He trusted Mister Weasley to inform the rest of his family. Harry would have done it, but he was just a tad bit worried about Mrs Weasley's reaction. He doubted she would have given him time to explain, and he couldn't fail to inform her personally if he told everyone else in the family.

"Hello, love," Harry said, leaning over his husband to kiss his cheek.

Pansy's face paled as she saw a new ring on Harry's hands.

Draco's hand came up to caress Harry's hand, paying special attention to that ring and taking great pleasure in rubbing the fact of it in his friend's face.

"Believe me now, Pansy, dear?" Draco inquired, his voice darkly satisfied.

"What's going on?" Harry asked as he seated himself. A plate appeared in front of him containing a Monte Cristo sandwich1, green salad and crisps – although in recognition of the croque-monsieur from which the sandwich came, it was drizzled with a cheese sauce, necessitating eating it with knife and fork.

"Pansy was just inquiring of the new jewellery. Seems she wasn't quite satisfied with my explanation," Draco informed him.

"Oh?" Harry didn't look up from his sandwich as he cut the first bite. "We just registered it this morning, but we've been married since just before we returned to school," he told Pansy.

"So Draco was saying," Pansy replied faintly, which did catch Harry's attention. She looked a little wan, but otherwise all right.

Harry frowned slightly, decided it was none of his business, and returned his attention to his sandwich.

Snape had refused to let them go to Diagon Alley to shop for the rings. So once the obnoxious man had left them in the dungeons, Harry had shadow-jumped them to a dark corner of The Leaky Cauldron's common room.

Unfortunately it hadn't been unoccupied, but the old woman slumped at the table there had been too pissed to see straight, and with the lack of the sound of apparation, had assumed that she'd dozed off for a minute. She'd merely grunted a "Geroff! Away wi' yer," at them, and then slumped back into her own dark thoughts.

Harry and Draco had made their way to a jewellers without trouble. The simple, elegant design amongst all the precious and magical stone settings had almost screamed to them that they belonged to the newly registered couple.

While there, Harry had also taken the opportunity to expand his wardrobe and re-order his dragonhide items, while Draco had finally picked out form-slimming maternity robes that would expand as he did. They had to be black for school of course, but he'd also ordered a half dozen robes in various tasteful colour combinations for wear outside of Hogwarts.

Pansy had rather hoped that Potter was just a part of Draco's 'experimentation phase', although that had gone on rather a long while, but . . . She gathered her scattered wits. If this was what Draco wanted, then she'd support him – and Potter, she added as an afterthought.

It was fortunate she hadn't been pining in a corner waiting for Draco to notice her in a romantic way. She had a small stable of admirers to play with. Pansy was sure she could get them to distract her from her disappointment.

"Congratulations," she said sincerely, albeit with a rather pale, drawn smile.

"Thank you," Harry replied.

Draco was watching his friend closely. He had suspected that there was more to their previous charade of boyfriend/girlfriend on her part. Her reaction now seemed to confirm that, but he wasn't going to humiliate her by making her admit it.

"So, ahh . . . How did you handle the surname problem?" Pansy asked hesitantly.

"Black," Harry replied shortly.

Confused, Pansy said, "I'm sorry?"

"Sirius Black was my godfather, and he was Draco's cousin once removed," Harry explained, "so it seemed a good compromise."

"Would have thought the two of you would have opted for Dæmentelen," Nott broke in to say.

"We thought about it, but..." Draco replied with a shrug. "It's just a bit ostentatious, don't you think?"

"This coming from a Malfoy?" Nott said incredulously, drawing a laugh from at least half of those within hearing.

Draco's glare made most of them at least attempt to hide their amusement.

"Ah . . . Hullo, Potter," came a rather abashed voice from behind Harry.

Harry didn't bother to turn around. "Goyle," he replied, with heavy neutrality.

"Just checking, you know – that you're not ticked off with us," the heavy boy said hesitantly.

After the last bollocksing they'd got from Potter, Greg and Vince were quite nervous. While not considering it a real possibility, at the back of their minds was a fear of being killed – or at least severely hexed.

"Should I be?" Harry inquired innocently. He had noticed the 'Potter' in there, but he'd begin their education on that count at another time. After all, even the professors had only just been informed.

"You did tell us to take the night off, the night you disappeared," Goyle said defensively.

"Quite right," Harry replied equably. "Sit down and eat."

"You too, Crabbe," Harry said to the large young man, still without turning around or looking at them.

There were a few seconds of stunned silence, and then both boys quickly took their seats and loaded their plates, albeit not without flicking an occasional cautious look at Harry.

Draco snickered at their reaction: nor was he the only one.

It was only when Harry and Draco stood to go to their first afternoon class that anyone noticed.

"Damn, Potter: have you grown again?" Millicent inquired. Everyone had noticed, of course, that Harry had grown over the summer from the year before.

"So it seems," Harry replied, with a wry grin.

Nobody said anything more, but you could see speculation on the faces of many. That much height over such a short amount of time could only be caused by magic. And everyone knew that Potter – Black, now – wasn't vain enough to have done it on his own. That was rather complicated magic, anyway. They didn't so much doubt his power, as his knowledge to be able to pull it off. So what had happened?

What nobody seemed to notice was that Draco had added a couple of inches to his height as well, since he'd bonded with Harry. Standing next to Harry, it was hardly noticeable.

* * *

><p>Later, Harry was mulling over the Board of Governors meeting, trying to suss out those things he hadn't quite understood, when something occurred to him.<p>

"Draco," he said, "didn't you say your father was on the Board of Governors?"

"Yes," Draco said, his tone questioning.

"It's yours now, then, isn't it?"

"Yes," the blond replied in wonder, his eyes widening a bit in realisation.

Harry nodded in satisfaction. "Good. If we work together, maybe we can influence their decisions more."

Draco was doubtful that a couple of teenagers could be much of an influence on a board of seasoned adults, but he wasn't going to hex his husband's all-too-rare optimism by saying so.

* * *

><p>Three days later Harry overheard an interesting rumour being discussed by a pair of young Ravenclaws, and started looking for a way to either confirm or deny it. It seemed the Ravenclaws themselves didn't know anything more than what they'd been discussing, and had merely been speculating on the subject.<p>

It took Harry several more days before he found his prey alone.

"Hello, Hopkins," Harry said in a low, casual voice. His cold rage was just below the surface, but Harry wanted to be sure of the facts of the rumour before he acted. Curiously, this time he found that he had a much firmer control over his emotions and reactions to it than he'd had before.

"Potter?" Wayne Hopkins said. He was a Hufflepuff, the same age as Harry. Harry's gold eyes focused on him, and immediately the boy was on guard.

"You got it in one," Harry replied, "although I would have thought it a bit obvious. I should inform you, however, that since my nuptials, the surname is 'Black'. Nice day, isn't it?"

"What do you want?" the sandy-blond boy asked nervously.

"Why so nervous, Hopkins?" Harry asked, toying with the boy.

"I'm not nervous," Wayne denied.

"Truly? You certainly look nervous. You're perspiring."

Wayne ignored the accusation. It was true, but if he didn't acknowledge it...

"What do you want?" he asked again.

"Oh, it's just a small thing, really. A matter of a certain blond Slytherin falling on some stairs."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Wayne denied.

"That was your first mistake," Harry said with a cold smile, although his tone of voice remained casually friendly. "Actually, I'm wrong," he corrected himself. "Your first mistake was tripping him in the first place. But you couldn't have missed hearing about it. I've heard you were a minor celebrity for a week over that – in your own House, of course. It's nice to have such loyal friends that they'd keep quiet about it, isn't it?"

"H-how did you find out?"

"Just rumours," Harry said, pulling out his legal wand. "I didn't know for certain until just now. Thank you for that."

"Wh-what are you going t-to do?" Wayne stuttered, his eyes fixated on Harry's wand, and wishing he'd the foresight to pull his first..

"Just making sure you don't go anywhere, for now," Harry replied. "I have a question or two. First, why did you do it?"

"Death Eaters killed my family," a now heavily sweating Hopkins replied.

"And how does that involve Draco, then?" Harry felt sorry for the boy's loss, but there was a matter of principle, here.

"His father's a Death Eater!" Hopkins said in a heated panic.

"Ah. I see. His father's a Death Eater, so of course Draco had to be involved. So if your father had killed someone it would be all right for their relatives to kill you for it?" Harry inquired pointedly.

"N-no!" Wayne exclaimed.

"Isn't that what you tried to do?" Harry asked rhetorically.

"And when did it happen, might I ask?" he added.

"I- This past summer," Wayne replied, his voice faint. Had he tried to kill an innocent boy? No. It couldn't be. Malfoy had to be a Death Eater, too – or planning to become one. He was an evil git, just like his father. Malfoy had been cruel and vicious to people in all the houses . . . until this year, he realised, when he'd started dating Potter. Thank the gods he hadn't had the chance to put any of his other plans into action.

"So Draco's father couldn't have been involved anyway; he was in Azkaban," Harry informed the boy.

"What do you mean, 'was'?" the blond boy asked suspiciously.

"You didn't hear about that either, then? Death Eaters killed Draco's parents, too."

"Serves him right," Hopkins replied vindictively, although he felt an unwanted twinge of sympathy for the Slytherin.

"Tut! Didn't I just tell you that Lucius was in Azkaban at the time?" Harry asked with mock concern for the boy's memory.

"That doesn't make him innocent!" Wayne argued.

"Oh, Mister Malfoy was guilty of all sorts of crimes," Harry readily admitted. "He tried to kill me a time or two." Harry's voice grew cold as he continued. "But he had nothing to do with the death of your family, and Draco definitely didn't."

Wayne felt himself floundering. His emotions were telling him that all of that didn't matter, but his mind was telling him that he was the one guilty of a crime. His eyes dropped again to Harry's wand.

"What are you going to do?" he asked again.

"Me? I'm not going to do anything," Harry replied. "You didn't hurt me, after all. But I am going to inform Draco." He knew Draco's reputation would scare Hopkins more than his own.

"But he'll kill me!" Wayne protested fearfully.

"Oh, I doubt it, although you might wish he had," Harry replied. "But I suppose you could avoid all that by turning yourself in." Harry shrugged. "Your choice, of course. You have until supper." Then Harry tucked his wand back into its sleeve and walked away, feeling at least vaguely satisfied. If Hopkins turned himself in, maybe he'd try to limit Draco's vengeance.

* * *

><p>Harry sighed. He was almost disappointed that Hopkins had proven to know how to use his brain, since he wasn't even vaguely happy about the Hufflepuff's attempt to kill Draco. Still, Hopkins would likely be looking over his shoulder for Draco's almost-white hair for some time to come. Malfoys weren't known to give up on their vengeance, no matter how long it took. If he explained it that way to Draco, maybe he'd settle for the psychological torture of a revenge that never came?<p>

Hopkins had been expelled, of course. He was lucky Dumbledore hadn't seen fit to turn him over to the Ministry and the Wizengamot for trial. Harry hadn't wished to add to the boy's troubles once he found out why he had acted as had, and had counted on the old man's will to thwart both him and Draco. At the same time, it only reinforced Harry's decision to separate himself from the old man and his idea of the Light. Perhaps out from under Dumbledore's influence Hopkins would have a chance to be a decent human being. Too bad about the interruption to his education, though. Still, there were one or two other wizarding schools the boy could apply to.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Draco asked, once they were safely in Harry's rooms and less likely to be overheard.

"Just a minute, love," Harry said, and then checked that no new spy spells had been put in place. There had been. Two. And they were so low powered that Harry had almost missed the second one. He and Draco had both thoroughly scanned for yet other spells after that. It was only when they were fairly sure that there were no more that they relaxed.

After disabling the spells, Harry told Draco the whole story. Draco glowered at him.

"And you let him get away? After almost killing me?" he said with quiet intensity.

"What would you have done if I'd given him to you?" Harry asked.

"I'd have made sure he knew what a Malfoy's vengeance was worth!" Draco declared angrily.

"And wound up not only expelled, but likely a 'guest' of the Ministry's prisons," Harry replied. "You know they'd like nothing better than an excuse to 'make an example' of you, and then confiscate your lands, holdings, and Gringotts vaults."

"I-!" Draco stopped, angry and frustrated. Harry was right, damn it.

"And just think," Harry said insinuatingly, murmurring into his lover's ear, "he'll keep looking for, and expecting, a revenge that never comes."

Draco chuckled, albeit reluctantly. Harry was probably manipulating him into giving up on his revenge, but he was right, as well – unless Hopkins was both very uninformed and very stupid. He turned in Harry's arms and kissed him.

"I think it's time we started recruiting," Harry said regretfully, after a few minutes of snogging..

This announcement totally derailed Draco's thoughts. If his husband was able to think of anything other than him while they were snogging, the subject must be weighing heavily on his mind.

"It's a good idea, but what made you decide?" he finally asked.

"I've always known I'd need to; I just didn't want to do it," Harry said, avoiding the question. "People will die."

Draco looked uncomfortable with that reminder. That was something he'd tried not to think about as well. Harry was going to be in the thick of any fighting, and . . . Draco shuddered, unable to think about the possibility of Harry getting hurt or killed.

"Yes. Inevitably so," was his reply. "We can only hope to minimise the damage to our people while maximising the damage to everyone else's."

"I'd rather minimise the damage to everyone except Voldemort – and a few others," Harry said musingly, his voice rumbling in a register he'd never reached before – and then looked surprised by the vibration in his chest.

Harry's voice made Draco shiver deliciously, all thoughts of fighting and death forgotten. "Ah . . . Harry? When did your voice drop?" he asked.

"Just now – I think," Harry replied. His voice wasn't quite as deep as when he'd spoken before, but it was still deeper than it had been – because he was trying to speak in his 'normal' register.

* * *

><p>"Harry?" Draco said that night in bed as he was snuggled up to his husband.<p>

"Hm?"

"When is the next Governor's meeting?"

Harry thought back, then toted up the days. "Three days," he replied, surprised that two weeks had passed so quickly.

"I'll be going with you this time," Draco remarked.

"Oh?" Harry inquired. "Oh! Yes, of course," he said, as he recalled Draco's place on that board.

"And . . . I think we're going to need some help," Draco said, grateful that Harry was supporting him in taking his father's seat. His husband could probably have insisted on voting both seats.

"With what?" he asked. There were so many things they could use help with!

"Your training mostly, but also recruiting."

"Salazar is going to be seeing to our training," Harry protested mildly.

"But he admitted himself that it would be difficult for him to teach us some things," Draco argued. "There are some things which need to be taught in a 'hands on' manner."

Harry frowned, wondering what his husband was driving at. At the same time, he had the niggling of an idea about it, which he was determinedly trying to ignore.

"And your solution?" Harry asked, almost dreading the answer.

"Uncle Severus," Draco replied.

Harry skewered the blond with a sharp look.

"Uncle Severus?" he inquired.

"Just an honorary title," Draco reassured him. "He was close friends with Mother when I was younger."

Harry's eyes narrowed to slits. "How close?" he asked.

Draco shot him a startled look. "Not that close," he declared. "At least . . . I don't think so. Although . . . Father usually wasn't around when . . . No. I won't believe it."

* * *

><p>In the meantime, Hermione Jane Granger had been reassessing her decisions and priorities. She was feeling vaguely ashamed of herself for having betrayed Harry's friendship. She and, unbeknownst to her, a small contingent of other Gryffindors were thinking of breaking ranks with the rest of their House and embracing the friendship of a certain dark-haired Slytherin – if he would still have them.<p>

True, a few of their number had been invited to Hogsmeade that one time, but there had been little contact since then, other than in classes. When Hermione had discovered that fact, she had been thoroughly and righteously indignant. It was only after she'd calmed down that she had started to think why Harry might have forsaken her: and Ron, of course.

Hermione had realised, to her shame, that she had become almost slavish to authority over the years. Harry had been right to call her a sycophant. When had she stopped questioning?

Actually, she rarely had questioned authority, she realised. And with examples such as Minister Fudge, Umbridge, and others, she wondered why. Nobody could be infallible; even she had made the occasional mistake. She blushed as she remembered the fiasco with the polyjuice potion in second year as the most memorable of those. With that in mind, Hermione began a re-evaluation of those few things Harry had told her of his life, and Dumbledore's role in them. Could the headmaster have been that badly wrong?

* * *

><p>Thank you for your reviews. :)<p>

1: A croque-monsieur is a hot ham and cheese (typically gruyère) grilled (broiled) sandwich. Some variations are dipped in beaten egg, then pan-fried in butter. It originated in France as a fast-food snack served in cafÃ©s and bars. More elaborate versions come coated in a Mornay or Béchamel sauce.

A Monte Cristo sandwich consists of ham, turkey, and Swiss cheese between two slices of bread, soaked in an egg-based batter and grilled or deep-fried. (Descriptions from )

Many thanks to my betas, who are keeping my insane ramblings at least partially understandable.


	20. Chapter 20

_**No Light Without Shadows**_

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Twenty**

Harry stared at the book in front of him, wholly expecting the words printed on the page to change, and was totally bemused when they didn't. A minor nature god? _Him?_But that's what it said: Wood Elves, sometimes known as High Elves, and their counterparts the Dark Elves, were regarded as being minor nature gods due to their control of various aspects of it.

Still, the book he was referencing was several hundred years old, so it was entirely likely that attitudes had changed. He got up and, taking the book with him, left the library, wandering aimlessly as he pondered the situation. There was nothing for it; he'd have to ask someone. If he was lucky, Draco would know. Besides which, he was only _part_ Dark Elf. Surely that didn't count?

"Harry?"

Harry turned around in the corridor to face the voice, and sighed. Most of the Gryffindors hadn't been too bad about his being re-Sorted, actually ignoring him rather than turning nasty, but a few had kept glancing at him. Usually by this time of year everyone but a few first years took his presence for granted – unless The Daily Prophet was spreading rumours . . .

Oh. Of course. His marrying the son of one of Voldemort's biggest supporters would have made the headlines. So why hadn't anyone shown him the papers? He shook his head. Not that it mattered, really. But not having thought of it beforehand, Harry had paid particular notice to which of the glances sent his way were antipathetic and which were pleading, wistful, and so on. He'd expected this particular confrontation much sooner, actually.

"Yes, Ginny?"

"Why?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. There were a few things she could be referring to, but he didn't think any of them would be subjects he'd care to discuss.

"There are literally hundreds of subjects to which you could be referring," Harry pointed out while keeping his tone neutral, "from my clothing style to the meaning of the universe. Could you, perhaps, be a bit more specific?"

"Oh give up, you prat," Ginny said dismissively, backhanding his stomach.

"_Oof!_ Ginny..." Harry said warningly, trying to rub the sting away, and ready to arm himself with his wand if she tried any such thing again. He'd be sorry for it of course, but he'd had enough of being abused – by _anyone_.

"You _married . . ._Malfoy?" the girl inquired. At Harry's look of askance, she explained. "Da told us."

"I expected he would," Harry remarked. "But once we'd bonded," he said, getting back on subject, "it was a legal reality. We just had to register it. Snape insisted."

"_Snape?_"

"Well, we _were_ sleeping together." Harry almost relished the look of shock on the girl's face, although if she'd thought about it, it should have been obvious.

Ginny stared at her former crush, caught between shock and lascivious imaginings, shook her head to clear it, and changed the subject.

"Why did you . . . re-Sort yourself?" the redhead asked.

Harry raised a sardonic eyebrow. "I didn't," he replied. "I merely put the Hat on and asked it to do its job."

"You know what I mean," Ginny replied impatiently.

"You don't recall how Ron was carrying on?" Harry inquired with a hint of sarcasm.

"Of _course_ I do!" the girl exclaimed. "But wasn't that a bit drastic?"

Harry shrugged. "I was angry," he explained shortly. If he expounded on his reply, explaining how he'd never felt completely 'at home' as a Gryffindor, Ginny would likely react badly and demand answers to questions for which he had no solid answers – and he wanted to be on his way.

Ginny looked at him quietly for a few moments, her gaze intense, and then her body relaxed as she sighed and nodded. "Yeah. I can see that," she admitted. "As much as I love him, I have to admit Ron can be a right arse at times."

Harry's gaze softened. "He used to be a good friend," he offered. "I wish he could accept change better." Harry's eyes hardened again. "But you only get one second chance," he swore. "Ron used his up after the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

Ginny nodded introspectively whilst wondering where this Harry had come from. Had this personality always been there and she'd just been too blind to see? Had he hidden it? Then he was as good an actor as she'd become after her adventure during her first year at Hogwarts.

"Harry?"

Harry sighed. "Yes?"

"Do you think _I_ could get re-Sorted?" Ginny asked.

Harry looked at her, dumbfounded. "Why?" he asked, his amazement clear in the word.

"It's just that . . . after . . . the Chamber, I just don't feel like I fit in, any more," Ginny explained.

"In what way?"

"I can't seem to relate to them, now," the girl replied. "I feel a bit of a fraud, carrying on as if I do."

Harry nodded. He knew exactly what that felt like. Unfortunately by the time he'd given up trying to make himself fit into the Gryffindor mould it was too late; he was stuck there. Slytherin wouldn't have had him by then. It was only due to his Dæmentelen heritage that he was accepted _now_.

Who knew what would happen if they found out about his Dark Elf ancestry?

"I suppose you could petition the Board of Governors for a re-Sorting," Harry mused, "if that's how it's done. You might want to see if there's anything in the library about it."

Ginny nodded, her eyes boring into the boy's in front of her, trying to read him. It was disconcertingly difficult.

"I'll do that," she replied. "Thank you."

As Harry moved to continue on his way, she said, "Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Can I . . . Can I . . . have a hug?" she asked hesitantly.

Harry frowned. "Why?" he asked.

Ginny's eyes dropped to the floor. "Never mind."

Harry's face softened and he reached out, gently tipping her face up to meet his eyes.

"Ginny?" he said inquiringly, softly pushing for an answer.

"I'm over my crush on you," Ginny began, her intuition correctly supplying the reason for Harry's hesitation. "I have been since third year. You feel more like a brother to me now. But . . . it's like . . . because I _chose_ you for a brother, it's almost like you're closer to me than my real brothers."

She paused, considering her words, then frowned and said, "Not that I don't see you like a real brother."

Harry chuckled and moved up to his 'sister', enclosing her in his arms. "So you keep saying," Harry teased. "But I know what you mean, Sis," he said, letting her off the hook.

"Good!" Ginny replied, her tone making it sound as though any possible misunderstanding would have been his fault, anyway.

"I really have to go, but drop by sometime," Harry invited, letting her go and stepping back. "I'll make sure Draco behaves himself."

"Harry?"

Harry had just realised he was going to be late to his next class if he didn't hurry, but stopped. "Yes?"

"Is . . . Oh, I know it's silly, but Draco looks like he's . . . gaining weight. Only..."

Alarmed, but hiding it, Harry said, "Not here, Gin; call by, sometime soon." This was the second time Ginny had brought up the subject of Draco's weight gain. And since he was going to be telling the whole family over the solstice hols anyway . . . Harry thought telling his self-proclaimed 'sister' early about his and Draco's happy news and then swearing her to secrecy might be better than letting her blunder about, getting other people suspicious as well.

Ginny was confused, but she nodded anyway, and watched as Harry walked away.

"Oh!" she cried out just before Harry got out of earshot.

Harry sighed, came to a stop, and turned around.

"Now what?" he asked, somewhat impatiently.

Ginny shot him a hurt look.

"I'm sorry, but I'm really going to be late for class!" Harry exclaimed in response to that look. Even if he could get out of sight long enough to shadow walk without being seen, he'd barely make it.

Ginny sighed and gave up. "Can I talk to you after class?" she asked hopefully.

"Yes! Library! Goodbye!"

Harry turned and ran.

He walked into Transfiguration five seconds late, and was docked five points from Slytherin.

_'McGonagall's getting as bad as Snape,'_ Harry thought. _'Wonder if _she_ thinks Dark Elves are demigods?'_ he thought, silently laughing to himself. _'She'd likely not care even if she did, if they were a pupil here.' _

The lesson was interesting, but that didn't stop Harry from running his conversation with Ginny through his mind. As much as she might want it, Harry didn't think she'd really fit into any of the other Houses any better than she thought she did Gryffindor.

Slytherin? Ginny knew how to keep a secret, was intelligent and could be quite cunning at times, but Harry didn't think she had the fortitude for the Snake House. She was too trusting. Ravenclaw? Again, she was probably intelligent enough, but Ginny didn't seem to him to have the drive for knowledge that those in that House had. Hufflepuff? Harry laughed to himself. Ginny would most likely scandalise them, and have most of them terrified of her within a week.

"Mister . . . Black!" Professor McGonagall scolded, hesitating as she substituted the young man's new surname for the one she was so used to.

It was hard for her to think of him as being a Slytherin, let alone married – and not only to a boy, but to a Malfoy! She resented the former, and the latter confused her. How could it have happened? Even if one were to ignore the fact that Harry and the young Malfoy had been at each other's throats for years, they weren't old enough! Not that she had anything against same-sex relationships, but she hadn't seen any sign of it in young Potter, and she rather prided herself on her ability to read her pupils. But Potter and Malfoy!

True, many students were wed within a few months of leaving school due to pre-arranged marriages between pureblood families, but even so, Harry Potter had stolen a march of more than a year over his classmates.

"Yes, Professor?" Harry responded.

"If we could have your attention in _this_ world?"

"Yes, Professor," Harry replied, not allowing his embarrassment to show.

Minerva's lips thinned. "Five points from Slytherin, Mister Black," she said, before returning to the lesson.

"Now, as I was saying, in order to transfigure a tree limb into a tent one would first have to..."

**. . . **

Draco had insisted on accompanying Harry to the library after classes that day, after dragging it out of Harry that he was meeting the youngest Weasley, but his nascent jealousy found no fertile ground in which to grow. The blond was almost disappointed when Ginevra, as he insisted on calling her when he found out she disliked the name, showed no more romantic interest in Harry than in her own brothers.

On the way back, Draco decided he needed a chocolate pudding cake – with fresh strawberries, candied cherries and sour cream. Harry raised an eyebrow, but took his husband to the kitchens.

"You have to tickle a fruit?" Draco asked in disdainful disbelief as Harry sought entrance to the kitchen.

"I've done it before," Harry replied with a sly smirk.

Draco elbowed him in the ribs for his insinuation.

As they entered, the house elves looked up from what they were doing. All action stopped as the small creatures bowed.

"We is honoured that the Great One is calling on us, here. We is not being worthy of such greatness," one house elf said in a fawning manner. "And yous is bringing yous mate! Is the Great One hungry? Can we's be doing anything for the Great One?" she inquired.

Harry stared as the house elves, his mouth agape, until Draco reached up and closed it for him. Then instead of waiting for Harry to reply, he told them what he required. One of the house elves escorted them to a small table in a corner which Harry had often made use of, and bustled off to try to find Draco's dessert.

Unfortunately they didn't have what he wanted, but they _did_ have chocolate cake, chocolate pudding, sour cream and some freshly peeled and cut-up fruit, and soon said items were sitting in front of the blond, including the rather largish breakfast bowl he had also requested. Draco got right to work dishing up roughly measured amounts of each ingredient.

"What's going on here?" Harry whispered to his husband as soon as he'd recovered from his shock.

"Stupid house elves don't have my pudding cake," Draco replied, "so obviously I'm making the next best thing."

Looking into the bowl Draco was mixing things up in, Harry looked away and gave a little shudder. The concoction looked _horrible_. "That's not what I meant," he hissed.

"Hm? Oh," Draco responded, as he caught on to what Harry was driving at. "I don't know. Why not ask _them?_"

Frowning a bit at his preoccupied mate, Harry did just that.

The head of the kitchen house elves bowed low when Harry spoke to her and then said, "Yous is being a Great One!"

"What do you mean by that?" an exasperated Harry replied. He was only **part** Dark Elf after all, and he was wearing a rather powerful illusion to hide the telltale signs.

The house elf gave a tiny frown as it peered up at Harry. "Yous is being a Dark Great One," she elaborated. "House Elfs is thinking all Great Ones gone, but..." She stopped, and shrugged as if to say that it was self-evident that they had been wrong.

Harry gave up at that point, and sat back heavily in his chair, staring as the small creatures went about their business, but not without stopping often to give obeisance to him.

After that he would often see house elves about the castle bowing to him, and while saying 'yes, sir' to his face when he demanded they stop bowing and scraping to him, in practice they ignored Harry's orders in that regard and continued to bow or curtsey whenever they saw him. Indeed, Harry had seldom seen house elves around Hogwarts except in the kitchens, but now it seemed as though they were everywhere.

Harry resigned himself to the attention, asking only that nobody else be around when they showed their respect.

It happened during Potions.

Professor Snape had, as had become his habit, separated Harry and Draco, pairing them with other pupils. He was still suspicious of Harry's new-found potions skills, and suspected that Draco might be helping the boy; he doubted that even tutoring could have produced such a dramatic difference.

Although he had no way of knowing it, Snape was right – tutoring _couldn't_ have made such a difference. Harry had never applied himself in any of his classes, save DADA – and then only because his life might depend on it. Doing only enough to get by had been a habit impressed upon him by Harry's aunt and uncle, who couldn't stand to have 'the freak' doing better in his studies than their precious 'Duddykins'. The habit had carried over so that he wouldn't outshine his best friends who, in entirely different ways, both craved attention.

Snape's belief in Harry's chicanery was taking a beating as time went on, however, and the young Mister Potter turned in consistently good results (he refused to recognise the name change to 'Black', despite his own peripheral involvement in that event). They weren't perfect, or he would have still been assured, in his own mind at least, that the boy was cheating – but they _were_ consistent with that of other N.E.W.T. level pupils, which was why that belief was now flagging, despite his stubborn will to believe otherwise. He was even now keeping a close watch on the infernal brat while appearing to be looking elsewhere – which is why he almost missed seeing a small piece of something flying through the air towards Draco's cauldron.

Snape's head snapped in that direction, calling out a warning, but already a thick, oily smoke was pouring out of the young Malfoy's cauldron, enveloping him as his lab partner of the day dove, coughing, away from the scene.

**. . . **

Harry raged for three days, bolts of lightning flying at random intervals as he lost control of his magic. But, like the last 'accident' Draco suffered, nobody knew who was responsible for Draco's potion reacting as it had. However, one can rage only so long, and eventually Harry realised that his reaction wasn't accomplishing anything. That didn't mean that he was no longer angry, but Harry finally came to the conclusion that he wasn't accomplishing anything, and settled down to wait for Draco to wake up.

The inhabitants of the castle breathed a sigh of relief. It was, perhaps, a bit premature, as Harry had every intention of wreaking havoc on the guilty party as soon as he found out who it was.

Unfortunately for Harry's plans, Snape and Dumbledore found the person first.

**. . . **

Draco woke slowly, feeling not at all well. He had a headache, his lungs ached, his belly...

Draco's eyes snapped open. His belly! His panic overwhelmed the blast of pain he felt as light hit optic nerves unprepared for the sensory input – almost. He ignored the pain as best he could as one hand pressed feverishly against his abdomen. Almost immediately, he felt another hand cover his, and one rest comfortingly on his shoulder.

"It's okay, love," Harry said soothingly.

"The bae—" Draco stopped himself and then, unable to stem his panicked curiosity, asked, "It's okay?" he asked in a weak, but urgent voice. "It doesn't feel right," he continued, referring to his abdomen.

"The smoke . . . It was toxic," Harry hesitantly explained. "Your body rejected it."

"Well of _course_ my body would reject toxic smoke!" the blond replied impatiently.

"No, love," Harry said tenderly. "The baby. The fumes made your body reject the baby."

Draco's first reaction was a firm denial; it just couldn't be. It couldn't happen like that: not to _him_. But he also felt the emptiness in his body where something had once familiarly lodged, if only for a relatively short time.

As he saw despair overcome his lover, Harry hurriedly added, "Madam Pomphry was able to save it, but..." His voice trailed off as he reluctantly foresaw all the reactions Draco could have.

"What?" Draco asked in waspish impatience, unwilling to hope without acceptable reason.

Harry cautiously explained. "She had to transfer it to a surrogate mother."

Without Harry's hand pushing down on his shoulder, Draco would have sat bolt upright.

"**What?**" he yelled.

Harry ignored the question for the moment in preference to telling his husband, "Don't try to sit up. Madam Pomfrey healed you after the transfer, but the muscles are still weak. You could injure yourself."

The blond had other priorities. "What do you mean, _'a surrogate mother'_? he demanded. Nevertheless, he didn't try to sit up again, while mentally holding onto the possibility of doing so if he thought it necessary.

"A Mrs Ainsley Caratauc, from up Dufftown. Evidently they were family friends of Professor McGonagall," Harry explained.

Draco didn't think that explained anything, and his look clearly said so. "So where is she?" he asked, meaning, 'where's my baby?'

"Right here, luv," a new voice said from the other side of the privacy curtain.

"Where?" Draco said peevishly. He wanted to _see_ the woman.

"Sorry, luv, but _I'm_ bed-bound as well, until the bairn settles in, so t'speak."

But even as she spoke, Harry was moving, drawing the curtains back. As he did so, Draco could see that he and she occupied two beds in a private room.

"Where are we?" Draco asked as Harry was doing that.

"Hogwarts. A private room just off the infirmary proper," Harry replied.

That's all Draco needed to know. He was no longer interested in that subject, despite the fact that he'd never before seen a hint that such rooms existed.

"And this . . . Dufftown?" Draco inquired of the woman who had just come into sight. Even reclining, he could tell she was small. She was about five foot two inches tall, over a stone overweight, with mousy, dishwater blond hair that was rife with split ends and was a bit unruly anyway. She had a pug nose, a generous mouth, and a rather pale complexion that didn't seem quite natural on her. Draco wondered if perhaps the baby – **his** baby – was doing that to her. He rather hoped so.

"Scotland, luv," she replied. Her voice was cheery, if a little tired. "East of Inverness. Ye'll 'ave heard o' Inverness, o' course?"

Draco sniffed in disdain. "Of course," he replied loftily. He eyed her abdomen, and was somewhat surprised to find he felt jealous. It was_ his_ baby, despite the fact that he had felt all sorts of doubts about being pregnant.

"Your accent . . . it sounds a bit off," Draco observed.

"Lived most o' me life in London, right?" she replied. "Since I married, any road."

Draco's eyebrow twitched at that turn of phrase, but what he said was, "But now you've returned?"

"Death Eaters did fer me man," Mrs Caratauc replied, her cheery demeanour disappearing, and her childhood brogue became stronger, "and with me own children grown an' gone, there was no reason ta stay."

Draco's expression was conflicted. On the one hand this woman was clearly lower class; on the other hand, his baby was alive because she was there.

"Why are you doing this for me?" Draco asked suspiciously.

The woman's gaze gave nothing away as she said, "I'm not. Minerva asked it of me, and I'm doin' it fer Mister Potter, here: 'The Boy Who Lived'."

Stung, Draco replied, "Since it appears nobody has informed you, our married name is 'Black'," placing a very slight emphasis on 'married'.

"Yes?" she said, making it clear that it was no news to her.

Draco coloured slightly, and Harry finally entered the conversation. "There's a contract," he informed Draco. "Mrs Caratauc—"

"Ainsley to you, luv," the woman broke in, in tones that were just a bit too familiar.

A tint coming to his cheeks, Harry otherwise ignored the interruption. "-having lost everything due to Voldemort's depredations, has agreed to accept a small cottage on an acre of land, along with a modest yearly stipend for the rest of her life. In return she promises to have no contact with us or the baby without invitation."

Harry politely ignored Draco's pithily muttered "When elephants fly."

Other than a quick glance and a momentarily raised brow, Mrs Caratauc also pretended not to have heard the comment.

"You couldn't have found anyone better?" Draco complained to his husband.

"We were lucky to have found _anyone_," Harry replied, impatient with his lover's lack of manners. "And I think we were very lucky to have found Mrs Caratauc. We could have done _much_ worse – or lost it!"

Realising how his words might be interpreted, Harry turned to apologise to the woman who was now carrying their child, but was interrupted before he could even begin.

"It's quite all right, luv," Mrs Caratauc replied. "In his place, I'd likely be worse."

"What?" Draco inquired querulously, his brows rising challengingly.

"'Tis yer own bairn that I'll be havin' the birthin' of, and o' course you'll be wantin' the carryin' and the raisin' of it yersel'," the woman said to him generously, expanding on her explanation. Her thickened accent betrayed her real feelings, however.

"Nonsense," Draco replied decisively. "I was quite dreading getting fat and having stretch marks. It's a relief not to have to go through that, now." Which, while at least partially true, was also a flat-out lie, as the emotions in his eyes related.

Ainsley waved off that disclaimer. "No need to be a'blowin' smoke in **my** eyes, luv, and me havin' three of me own. I'm no so old I've forgotten what it was like."

"Hmph!" was Draco's only response. He turned to Harry.

"So who did it?" he demanded.

"Some kid named Branley," Harry replied.

"A _Hufflepuff?_" Draco exclaimed. Lisa Branley's father, Joseph, was a minor player in wizarding politics, but his ancestors used to have far more influence. Which was why Draco, having been schooled in wizarding politics both past and present, knew of the girl at all. Hufflepuffs were usually beneath his notice.

Harry nodded. "She blamed you for Hopkins' dismissal from the school," he revealed.

"Fool bint," Draco muttered. "If I were responsible..."

"You'd have bragged about it," Harry interrupted, finishing his husband's sentence for him.

"Exactly!"

Snickering from the next bed over reminded them they weren't alone.

Draco glared in Mrs Caratauc's general direction a moment, then asked Harry, "And what's become of her?"

"She's been remanded to the aurors. Now that you're conscious, I imagine she'll be taken to trial."

Something in Harry's tone made Draco ask, "How long have I been unconscious?"

"Ten days," was the somber response.

"Ten _days?_" Draco was a bit shocked by that.

Harry nodded. "I'm so happy you're okay," he said. "Sal will be, as well," he added.

"Who bloody well—" Draco started, but Harry's mouth over his was suddenly making it difficult to speak.

"..._cares_," the blond continued with a half-hearted glare after he'd reclaimed his mouth from his husband.

"I do," Harry whispered in Draco's ear. "Ten _days_, love."

"Well, now you know what it's like," Draco replied with smug vindictiveness, catching on to his husband's meaning.

Harry nodded. "And I'm sorry I didn't . . . 'respond' better, then," he said, trying to look suitably contrite. Still, _he'd_ only been unconscious for three days, not ten.

"If you'll close the curtains," Mrs Caratauc put in, "I'll just pretend I'm not here."

Both young men blushed. "Sorry, Mrs Caratauc," Harry replied. But Harry not only closed the curtains, he put an Imperturbable and a silencing charm on them so the lady wouldn't hear anything, anyway. And less than fifteen minutes later he was swallowing his lover's seed, reveling in the sounds of pleasure Draco had made.

Moving up beside his husband, Harry cradled Draco in his arms, carefully placing a multitude of butterfly kisses all over the blond's face, neck, and especially his petal-pink lips.

Eventually Draco gently pushed Harry onto his back, and rested his head on Harry's chest. They lay there, content, for some time.

After a while Harry said, "I managed to go through quite a lot more of my estate paperwork while you were unconscious."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hm . . . Found where the original Dæmentelin estates were."

"Were?" Draco queried. He felt Harry nod his head.

"Still own the property, but the castle itself was razed," Harry explained.

"Where?"

"Wales. The exact spot has been lost, though. Unplottable. Only someone of Dæmentelin blood can find it without invitation."

Draco questioningly looked up at Harry through his pale lashes. "Then how was it torn down?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. A lot more people knew of its location back then?"

Draco gave a little frown, but conceded it was a possible explanation – not likely, but possible. "So I suppose you want to see where it was, then?"

Harry cocked his head, considering it, then gave a careful nod. "I think so, yes."

"When?"

"We have to stop in at the Weasleys during solstice break," Harry said, thinking out loud. "So . . . spring break? Or is there a Wizarding name for that time? And Mrs Caratauc would only be halfway through the pregnancy..."

"How are we going to find it?" Draco asked, ignoring the question and avoiding confirming the date. He was reluctant to be that far away from his baby, even if they _could_ be back in next to no time. How would they know if there was something wrong in the first place?

"It's on the coast, somewhere between Anglesea and Pembrokeshire."

"That's a lot of coastline, Harry," Draco protested.

"I'm hoping my magic will guide me," Harry replied.

Draco looked askance at his husband, something in his expression leading one to believe that he was also questioning Harry's sanity, before letting his head fall back to his husband's chest with a thump.

"You're barmy: you _do_ know that," Draco said offhandedly.

"Mm..." Harry noncommittally replied.

* * *

><p>1: Elves <strong><em>did<em>** use to be thought of as minor nature and/or fertility gods. No lie.  
>2: 'Any road': a regional colloquialism for 'anyway'.<br>* Ainsley Caratauc – 48, raised three children, husband killed by DE's, no property & little income.

Thanks to my betas: Sheree S., Dawn B., Dream Howler, Aayesha, Ishe-Leigh, and much gratitude to my Brit-picker, Andy.


	21. Chapter 21

**_No Light Without Shadows_**

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Twenty-One**

_Light flickered wildly from the leaping flames of the one fire pit lit in the almost-cavernous stone room, the fire doing little to dispel the cold, and only a bit more to dispel the darkness for the black-robed group gathered before the dais at one end of the room._

_A sharp order came from the man-shaped being standing upon the dais. "Report!"_

_Four figures stepped forth from the group, and waited to be called upon._

_"Bellatrix!" Voldemort barked out, for it was indeed he on the dais._

_Bellatrix Lestrange went to her knees and kissed the edge of the dais her lord stood upon, not daring to mount the dais herself in order to kiss the hem of the Dark Lord's robe. It could have been viewed as her trying to place herself on the same level as her master._

_Voldemort was both pleased and annoyed by her gesture. He recognised why she had done so, but . . . He shook his head, throwing off those thoughts. He'd ignore it, for now. "Report!" he snarled._

_"My lord, I am sorry, but so far, although we have searched through most of the touring warehouses – mew-see-ems? – the item has eluded us."_

_Voldemort snarled at her and, without warning, flung his favourite punishment at her. "Crucio!"_

_Bellatrix was almost able to remain silent through the ordeal, letting only a few small whimpers escape her. Pleased with this display of strength on her part, Voldemort only held her under the curse for about twenty seconds before releasing her._

_"I do not tolerate failure, Bellatrix," he hissed at her. "You will have a more favourable report for me at our next meeting. Do you understand?"_

_"Y-yes, master," the woman replied, shuddering under the after-effects of the curse._

_"Dismissed!"_

_Bella bowed and returned to the crowd._

_"Nott! Report!"_

_A man stepped forth, presumably a relative of Theodore Nott, of Slytherin House. He started to kneel._

Harry jerked awake. It was the first time that school year that he had a vision of Voldemort's doings. Strangely, not only had he been able to wake before the scene was over, he had felt no pain in his scar, and hadn't felt the effects of the curses Voldemort had cast, as he always had before. So why did he see this one, now? Or obversely, why hadn't he had any other visions until now?

And what was the misshapen man (Was he still human?) looking for?

Harry sighed and sat up in their bed. Even if his scar wasn't hurting, the 'vision' had given him a lot to think about, not the least of which was if he should report the details of it to someone, and if so, to whom? In past years the answer would have been simple – Dumbledore. Now, however, Harry was very wary of the old man's manipulations, especially of him. He didn't want to give the elderly, yet wily headmaster any information that could possibly be used against him – and anything relating to Voldemort was likely just the sort of information Dumbledore would try to twist to his own advantage.

Sighing yet again, he swung his legs out of bed, being as careful as he could not to wake Draco. The blond had been released from the infirmary after a paltry four days, and then only upon threatening Madam Pomfrey with sending her a ward full of first- and second-year pupils if she didn't. Whether it was the threat (unlikely) or whether Madam Pomfrey just got tired of Draco's behaviour was unknown, but the results was what mattered, and Draco counted it a victory against the woman.

Harry used the loo, set the temperature of the shower to a few degrees warmer than he usually liked it, and climbed in. Oddly enough, he'd been waking up tired and sore the past few days, and the pounding of the hot water on his body helped reduce the aching and stiffness of his muscles. Thank the gods for whoever had discovered a way for the castle to create and deliver an unending supply of hot water.

A few minutes later, Draco slipped into the shower behind Harry and put his arms around him.

"G'morning, love," Harry mumbled.

"Diction, Harry," Draco corrected. "You need to project the image of a proper and correct gentleman at all times . . . even when you're not at your best."

"Is that why you're talking into my shoulder?" Harry replied, humour in his voice.

Draco slapped his husband's biceps. "Shut up," he said petulantly.

The blond straightened up a bit and his hold on Harry's waist firmed. "Where's what's-her-name? The brood mare, or whatever you call it?"

Harry turned in Draco arms and gathered the blond to him. "Mrs Ainsley Caratauc – not that I believe for a moment that you've forgotten her name. We've several months to go, Draco. And she's right here in the castle – guest rooms, I believe."

Draco looked blankly at the wall over Harry's shoulder as he thought, and then, "Just after school ends for the summer," he stated.

"When it's due?" Harry surmised.

Draco relaxed back into Harry's arms again, nodding his head on the brunet's shoulder. "Where are we going to live?"

"Grimmauld Place," Harry replied, with some surprise at the question. "That's why we had Dobby and Skiph repair the Black house."

"I could have lived with that if it was just us, Harry, but I will not have our child – Gods, but that sounds so odd! At any rate, I will not have our child risked where Dumbledore's toadies were in and out so often. Who knows what that scum might take it into their minds to do?"

Personally, Harry thought that while his spouse might have something of a point, he also thought Draco was overreacting. They weren't all so bad. Still, he wasn't all that eager to move into the house which had served as just another prison for so long for his godfather.

"I'm sure between the Potter, Black, Dæmentelen and Malfoy properties there are at least a couple that would suit," Harry said soothingly. "We can check on that the next time we get to Gringotts. Alright?"

He frowned. "Have to check up on that. I don't recall seeing anything at all about the Dæmentelen family assets in the vaults – just the ring."

"After all these years, any assets may have been parceled out to lesser relations," the blond replied. "It is a good idea, however."

"We'll go Saturday," Draco continued before other, more urgent matters took precedence.

The day didn't get any better. It seemed to all happen at once.

Draco was off talking to the headmaster, while Harry's ears were being assailed by his familiar.

" . . .and Fawkes tells me that his bond with Dumbledore is so strained and weak as to be almost nonexistent anymore," Scáthfánaí trilled at Harry. "He treats her as though she's a common owl, and completely ignores her advice. He can't understand her of course, but she tells me he can tell her moods and opinions from her song, anyway. And he ignores her!" ScÃ¡thÃ 's tone was indignant and scandalised.

The shadow phoenix had been rather scarce lately as he explored the castle and its environs, but was now filling Harry in on what he'd learnt. Evidently he'd been acquainting himself with some of the residents as well. ScÃ¡thÃ getting to know the only other phoenix in residence made sense to Harry.

"So you said," Harry remarked. "So what is she doing about it?" Actually, he was a little surprised; he'd always assumed Fawkes was male.

"Waiting for him to come to his senses," ScÃ¡thÃ trilled.

Intrigued, Harry asked, "Isn't she his familiar? Aren't they bonded?"

"She was charged to make sure the head of the school was fit to administer it," ScÃ¡thÃ replied. "She serves as the symbol of good leadership, and to help protect the school. So long as she supports the headmaster, few will question him. But if she should abandon the person in that office . . . Well, there would need to be someone else to take over the care of Hogwarts."

"Take over- What does one have to do with the other?"

"Hogwarts helps her find the best available administrator," the shadow phoenix replied.

"And?" Harry asked impatiently.

"Fawkes passes on Hogwarts' wants and needs, and is the headmaster's companion. She has begun looking for the old one's replacement."

"Any luck so far?" Harry asked.

"A few. You are included in her list of possible replacements," ScÃ¡thÃ revealed proudly.

Harry was shocked – astounded, really – and then he recovered. "Pull the other one," Harry scoffed. "I am neither old enough nor experienced enough to fill that office, even if I wished to do so. The politics alone..." Harry shuddered in distaste at the thought.

ScÃ¡thÃ didn't say anything, but remained unbearably smug, leaving Harry with the uneasy feeling that perhaps his familiar wasn't having him on.

"But I haven't finished my own schooling, yet!" he protested. "I haven't the foggiest how to run a school!"

ScÃ¡thÃ remained silent on that subject, but went on to tell Harry of some of his other discoveries. Privately he mused on the explanation Fawkes had given him, that magical strength, intelligence and a strong will, along with the willingness to do what was needed to keep the school and its occupants safe was what Hogwarts needed at this time. The school was low on the list of Dumbledore's priorities these days, making him a less than acceptable caretaker, never mind the old man's less than savoury morals. Dumbledore seemed to think that the ends justified the means. If that thought process hadn't included the manipulation and endangerment of innocents it might have held true. Unfortunately...

Harry was only half listening by that point, worrying about whether or not he should tell Dumbledore to listen to Fawkes, and save himself the possibility of yet more responsibilities he wasn't ready for.

And then at breakfast...

Draco's subscription of the Daily Prophet went up in flames as he cast an Incendio on it.

"Draco?" Harry inquired.

"Damned fish wrapper!" Draco exclaimed, glaring at the ashes of the newspaper.

"Why?" Harry asked. "What did it say?"

Draco glared at the doors of the Great Hall. "Where is that woman?" he asked, irritated, and ignoring Harry's question.

Since Harry and Draco were now officially married, Draco had moved into Harry's rooms, and Ainsley Caratauc had, just that morning, been installed in Draco's old room – with the addition of its own, albeit small, bath and toilet. Draco wouldn't allow her to be any distance away if he could prevent it, and before breakfast had even begun, he had managed to talk Dumbledore into agreeing. The house elves had moved the woman there, with great care for her 'condition', before the half hour was over.

The old man could have been difficult about it and insisted that the woman live off school property since she was neither pupil nor staff, but the political power held between Harry and Draco, plus the fact that neither young man had trustworthy relatives to look after her swayed his decision. He had insisted on Grimmauld Place, since it had been fixed up and there were house elves to look out for the woman, but allowed himself to be dissuaded when Draco and Minerva joined forces to deny its suitability.

Of course Dumbledore had considered the possibility of using the woman who was carrying the young couple's child to help control Harry. He had also thought to block their sharing the same room on the grounds that it broke school rules to allow pupils to have sexual relations, but in the face of the fact that it was far too late, both in the form of their marriage and an in utero child...

Professor Flitwick, in the staff meeting in which the matter was discussed, had also brought up an obscure exception from 1483 concerning married couples. Fortunately the wedding of school-age couples, most to favour political liaisons between families, had mostly died out by the late 1800's.

"She could be sleeping," Harry replied. "I've heard pregnancy can cause frequent tiredness. But what did the Prophet say?" he asked again.

Blaise tossed his copy of the wizarding newspaper in front of Harry, who picked it up.

"What woman?" the dark Slytherin asked Draco. Draco pretended not to have heard the question.

The Daily Prophet headline screamed:

'BOY WHO LIVED' A POUFTER  
>MARRIES SON OF CONVICTED DEATH EATER<p>

"We knew it would get out eventually," Harry said. He was trying hard to be soothing and logical, but the paper had put the worst spin it could on the news, and Harry's voice revealed his true feelings in its tense, strained tones and the growing golden tinge to his eyes. He was so angry that he almost missed the secondary headline:

'Death Eaters Attack Muggle Neighbourhood In Surrey'.

"What woman?" Blaise demanded.

"You don't need to know," Harry said curtly, sending a scathing look at Draco for even mentioning her. Draco ignored him.

The attack hadn't occurred in Little Whinging, but in a small community two villages over. Harry thought he ought to feel relieved that his relatives (certainly not 'family') had been spared, but curiously, he found he didn't really care one way or another. He actually found he was more worried about the unknown victims. Unfortunately, it was far too late for him to do anything; the Aurors would have already taken care of the situation. All he could do was continue with his training and education, in preparation for when he would get more involved. With a mental shrug, he tossed the paper aside.

"Rumour has it that those two hired a woman to have a baby for them," Daphne Greengrass calmly remarked to Blaise, "though it's anyone's guess which one is the father."

"That's rather abrupt," Millie remarked to the couple, "since you only just got married."

Harry sneered at her, but was interrupted before he could even begin to say anything.

"It's a rumour," Draco replied in rather scathing tones. "I'm not saying whether it's true or not, but if it was, we'd only be doing an in-depth interview and personality analysis. It would be far too soon to be going through with it."

Harry kept quiet, but he was almost in awe of the way Draco was leading their housemates astray.

"Then why were you all in the medical wing for so long?" Pansy inquired sharply.

"Again, if we were considering such a thing, we would need to know her physical and magical fitness for it, wouldn't we?" Draco nimbly replied.

"How about it, Potter – Black?" Blaise asked, correcting himself, and interrupting whatever Pansy had been about to say. "Are the two of you looking to have a baby?"

"We're too young for that kind of responsibility," Harry answered. The responsibility was going to be thrust upon them anyway, but nobody needed to know that yet.

"Then why—" Pansy began.

"We are both the last of our lines, Parkinson," Draco interrupted impatiently. "I'm sure even you have enough brains to figure out the rest!"

"Ah, there you are," a new voice broke in. The ghost directed a very subtle wink in Harry's direction.

Harry sighed in relief. Salazar's appearance was very opportune, if a bit of a surpirse, but he had a hunch it wasn't just fortuitous happenstance.

"Who are you?" Theodore Nott rudely inquired.

One of Harry's eyebrows raised slightly. It was true that most ghosts weren't physically dangerous, but it still took some gall to address an unknown quantity in such a way.

The resulting whispers and loud declarations as others in the Great Hall caught sight of the new ghost was just short of chaos. New people showing up was a matter for curiosity, but a new ghost?

Harry stood. "Ladies and Gentlemen, may I introduce one of the school's Founders? I am pleased to present the illustrious Salazar Slytherin." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nott's face pale.

The resultant pandemonium quite effectively redirected everyone's attention away from Harry and Draco, who casually walked out of the room.

"Hello, Harry," they heard, just as the door closed behind them.

Harry's eyebrows went up in surprise. "Hello, Luna!"

"Come along, Harry," Draco said impatiently. He wasn't about to waste time on the daft girl.

"Nice ears," the girl remarked to Harry absently, her eyes somewhat unfocused. "They suit you."

Both young men froze.

"If you dare say anything, Lovegood..." Draco almost hissed in threat.

Luna looked at him. "Oh, my," she said with a small start that quickly returned to her usual distracted, almost vacant expression, "did you lose the baby, then?"

Draco's face went white.

After a few tense moments, Harry said, "I think she just proved she can keep a secret, Draco, if she's known and not told. And she was one of the group who helped me at the Ministry last year." Harry still felt a pang in his chest every time he thought of that episode, and the loss of his godfather.

His attempt to head off any adverse reaction Draco may have was only partially successful.

"No? But then . . . You'll have to tell me all about it, sometime," Luna continued, as though nothing had been said.

"I very much doubt that, Loon- Lovegood," Draco replied, finally finding his voice. He had only changed his form of address because Harry had glared at him. It still flustered him sometimes that he would defer to Harry's wishes. It didn't make sense! But it felt right . . . most of the time.

"Do you have time this afternoon?" Harry asked the Ravenclaw.

Luna shook her head. "After supper?" she offered as an alternative. In spite of appearances, she was as curious as anyone to know the details, despite her own talent having allowed her to see things denied to others.

A glance at Draco told Harry that he was on his own if he chose to do this. "Room of Requirement, then . . . about eight-ish?" he said.

"All right," was Luna's reply.

Draco's sneer told Harry how he felt about the whole thing.

Draco was so frustrated and angry about the morning's events by the time they got to the Chamber of Secrets that he was ready to scream.

"Go ahead," Harry quietly urged.

"What?" Draco replied shortly, his short temper evident in the question.

"Yell, scream, curse – whatever you need to do to release your tension."

"I am – was a Malfoy; we do not—"

"Draco," Harry interrupted, "we're alone down here, with who knows how many feet of stone between us and the next closest person. Yell!"

Temptation warred with training in Draco's breast, and then he turned towards the vastness of the Chamber, took a deep breath, raised his arms and, fists clenched, leant into it and screamed!

What neither of them had expected was for a huge sheet of water to shoot up, moving away in front of them.

After a few moments Harry said, "It seems your water demon heritage has proved out."

Draco looked at Harry, his face, while shocked, was plainly and sarcastically saying 'you think so?'

"Mister . . . Black," Professor Flitwick said after Charms class was over, "might I have a word with you?"

They waited until the classroom was clear, Harry taking the time to pack his notes and materials neatly in his backpack as he waited.

As the last pupil, Draco, filed out, Harry called, "I'll be right with you," to him.

Professor Flitwick cast a strong locking charm on the door, and a similarly strong silencing charm on the room before turning to Harry.

"Am I wrong in thinking that you are taking your studies more seriously, Mister Black?" the tiny man said.

"I am," Harry replied, puzzled by the professor's demeanour.

"May I ask why?"

Harry hesitated. Insofar as he was aware, the diminutive professor wasn't a member of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix or otherwise unduly influenced by the old man, but he was no longer the child who would easily trust even the most kindly-seeming of persons. "I'd rather not say," he replied. "No offense meant to you, Professor, but there are things I have yet to tell Draco."

A delighted smile graced Flitwick's face, much to Harry's befuddlement.

"Splendid, splendid," the little man murmured. Keeping his voice low, the Charms professor said, "Tell me, young Mister . . . Black, how would you feel if I were to give you a little extracurricular 'training', eh?"

Harry settled back into his chair rather firmly. "Why?" he asked.

"You may have heard that I used to compete on the duelling circuit when I was younger?"

Harry's face went slack with surprise. "You want to teach me duelling?"

"On the quiet, of course," Flitwick said warningly, "and not just approved duelling styles, either. Oh, no. We will teach you how to fight, young man – and win."

Harry just sat there staring at the man, letting the idea percolate through his mind. And then it occurred to him: "We? Who else?"

The small man's cheeks brightened to a rosy red. "Oh. Yes. Well, as to that..."

Harry waited patiently. And waited.

Harry's eyes were just starting to glow with impatience when Flitwick finally fought his way past his fidgeting and incomprehensive stammering.

"Well, Minerva – that is, Professor McGonagall—"

"McGonagall?" Harry blurted in amazement.

"Professor McGonagall, Mister Black," Filius said, correcting Harry.

"Sorry," Harry said, brushing the correction aside. "But . . . McGon—" Harry stopped and corrected himself as the small man looked warningly at him. "Professor McGonagall? I thought she'd be angry with me!"

"Whatever for, dear lad?"

"Well, I did rather jump ship, so to speak, didn't I?" Harry replied.

"Do you really believe Minerva to be that shallow? Not but that she wasn't a bit miffed with the manner of it, mind. Just a few days, that, but she's fine, now."

"You're sure?"

"As I can be, lad, yes," Flitwick replied seriously.

Harry sat back and looked at the diminutive professor for a few moments, his mind racing.

"You still haven't said why," Harry pointed out.

Professor Flitwick looked Harry, appearing rather puzzled. "I understood that You-Know-Who... Almost every year there's been trouble. Am I incorrect, then?"

Harry shook his head. "When?" he finally asked.

"You realise we have rather tight schedules, what with teaching classes, correcting homework, and other duties?" Professor Flitwick inquired . At Harry's nod, he continued. "The best time we could allocate was Saturday evenings, from seven to ten," he said.

Harry slowly nodded as he ran that through his mind. It wasn't ideal, as he usually caught up his assigned homework then. There was nothing for it, though; he'd have to cut into his Sunday leisure time with Draco. He was sure his husband would understand . . . Maybe. He was almost sure, anyway. Not that it would do Draco any good if he didn't like it. Harry wasn't about to let his marks drop if he could do anything about it, and he needed this training. But should he let them into the Chamber?

After a few seconds thought, he thought not. They brought up the idea, so they must have an idea of where to practise. Later, if he felt he could trust them – and if he and Draco were able to get the Chamber of Secrets in usable shape – he might reconsider his decision.

Diagon Alley may have started out as an actual byway in old London, but with the growth of the Muggle population and their growing antipathy towards magic users, it was decided to move the whole place to an unplottable piece of land that wasn't, strictly speaking, still in the Muggle world. The Leaky Cauldron and its entrance to Diagon Alley, which I can only describe as a sort of dimensional portal, were the only remnants of Diagon Alley still extant in London. Platform nine and three-quarters, where wizarding children met the train to take them to Hogwarts, the entrance of which was at King's Cross Station in London, was the same.1

Magic can hide a lot, but many blocks of land in a crowded city? Not without anomalies being noted.

It was the best kept secret in the wizarding world, since the general population believed the shopping district to still be in London. Indeed, the only persons to know the information for a fact rather than as a rarely-noted rumour had recently died, having lost the use of the Philosopher's Stone due to its destruction after Harry's first year at Hogwarts. Now only a few obscure notes in hidden records referred to the occurrence.

Freed of the constraints of Muggle London, Diagon Alley and its 'dark' appendage, Knockturn Alley, had sprouted small side-alleys to serve even more shops, right to the edges of the unplottable land. Since the climate echoed London's, the few who had heard of and believed the rumours of the twin alleys relocation assumed that it was somewhere close by, but nobody knew its location for certain. For all anyone knew, it could be under Loch Ness, bespelled to look as though it was under the open sky. But that was a bit of a stretch; such magic would be beyond the ability of almost any size group of wizards and witches.

Harry walked into Gringotts, not noticing that the goblin guards were staring, their expressions gobsmacked, their faces gone slack with amazement. It was only after Harry was rudely greeted and sneered at by a teller that one of the guards hurried up and whispered in the goblin's ear. The teller paled and looked at Harry, eyes wide.

"I am so sorry for my behaviour; will you please come with me, sir?" he requested with a small bow.

Slightly suspicious, Harry asked, "May I ask why?"

His eyes slowly scanning the area, the goblin deferentially murmured, "I think a private venue would be better to explain that, sir."

o~~~~~~~~~o~~~~~~~~~o

1: I came up with this on my own, but it seems there's nothing new under the sun; I found a site (Harry Potter for Grown Ups) with an article that proposed something very similar.

A/N: FFN doesn't seem to like my formatting, or Scatha's name. Sorry.

Your reviews are appreciated, even if I haven't time to respond to them.

Betas: Dawn, Dream Howler  
>Brit-picker: Andy S.<p> 


	22. Chapter 22

**_No Light Without Shadows_**

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

The goblin teller led Harry to a sumptuously accoutered room – highly polished macassar ebony wood floors, the victorian style furniture upholstered in tastefully understated brocades, the marble walls broken up with drapes of silk velvet and Chinese tapestries – and then called for tea and a tray of assorted biscuits before he left to fetch a higher official. Harry was hard pressed not to gape. _Draco would have approved_, he thought. However, Draco had decided at the last minute that he couldn't leave Mrs Caratauc behind, nor risk being seen with her in public. That wasn't the reason his husband had given, of course; he had pled an overload of schoolwork. Harry knew better, but let it slide.

"Mister Black," a goblin said from behind Harry, announcing his presence.

Harry jumped, startled._ Damn. I'm going to have to remember not to leave a known entrance at my back,_ Harry thought, as he turned to greet the newcomer. _If he had chosen to attack . . ._

"Greetings," Harry said politely, with a small bow of his head, his eyes never leaving the goblin. "May your treasures become many."

"My name is Gutsmasher," the goblin said, ignoring Harry's greeting. He was a little jaundiced with wizards trying to sway goblins through such greetings, but slightly impressed that the boy had made no mention of gold. Although goblins were good with gold – money, or anything valuable – it was not, for many of them, their life's passion. A treasure is anything that a being holds most important.

Gutsmasher was quite obviously taking in every detail of Harry's appearance. "I am a senior account manager here at Gringotts. Would you mind removing the illusion on your person, please?" he continued. "Our guards inform us that it is quite an advanced charm."

"How in . . . the world . . . could you know?" a rather gobsmacked Harry inquired, ignoring the request for now.

"Our guards are trained and bespelled to be able to see through any deception – any attempts at invisibility or disguise, whether magical or mundane," Gutsmasher replied. "Gringotts reputation for safety and security must be maintained. However, for their failure to inform bank personnel of your presence, they _will_ be . . . reprimanded."

"Why?" There was something rather . . . bloodthirsty about the tone the goblin had used.

"You_ are_ of the line of the Dark Ones, are you not?"

"Ah," Harry said, understanding. Then he frowned. "Nothing _too_ severe, I hope. If Dark Elves are as rare as the books at Hogwarts claim they are, I'm sure they couldn't have been expecting to see..." Harry trailed off, floundering for words. He didn't feel he could honestly claim to be a dark elf, since he hadn't the slightest idea what percentage of his heritage they entailed. At the same time, he _did_ have the physical characteristics . . . On the third hand...

Alright: too many hands. Harry shook himself from his temporary loss of concentration.

"You are, then?" Gutsmasher made no indication as to whether or not Harry's request for leniency would be taken into account. It _would_ be passed on to his superiors, however.

"Only partially," Harry informed the goblin. "Are there . . . other Dark Elves?" he asked. Frustrated, Harry decided it was easier to talk as though he was a full dark elf, rather than stumble around with equivocations.

Gutsmasher eyed Harry measuringly. "If so, they have not made themselves known for at least two centuries," he finally replied. "So the question becomes how you are one of them, when we have seen no sign of it before now."

"And again I request that you remove the illusion on your person, Mister Potter," Gutsmasher insisted.

Harry considered how to answer the goblin's question while he removed the illusion. He had been into Gringotts less than a handful of times before this past summer, but he could understand the goblin's misgivings. He was loathe to divulge the information, but from the reactions of the goblin guards it might give him more sway with the goblin nation if he did.

"May I have your oath not to divulge the information to any but your superiors?" Harry finally asked.

The goblin sneered. "One of your wizard oaths?"

Harry mentally kicked himself; it _was_ what he had been thinking, but he should have known that such an oath would mean little to another species. Thinking quickly, he said, "No. One that would mean something to you and yours."

"You would trust such an oath?" Gutsmasher inquired, still sneering.

Harry looked at the goblin, his head tilted as he regarded the small-statured being.

"As a nation of warriors, I would assume that you held your honour in high esteem," Harry said, hoping he was right.

"We are bankers in these modern times," Gutsmasher replied obliquely.

"And yet few are brave enough to deliberately offend a goblin," Harry retorted delicately. He almost felt as though he was walking on eggshells, or walking through an unfamiliar, unlit room at midnight. "Even if open revenge may be only a very rare option, I misdoubt me that any who do offend go unpunished." He was going on nothing but instinct, but it sounded reasonable to him.

Gutsmasher gave a slight nod in acknowledgement. There were a few wizard-kind who, if not immune to retribution, could not be 'reprimanded' as honour demanded, but even those occasionally found themselves with political or financial difficulties, as the opportunity arose: no matter how long it took. He studied the young man before him a few more moments, then gave a decisive nod. Crossing his arms across his chest and bowing slightly, his eyes riveted on Harry's, he said, "Upon my weapons, my gold, and my honour, I swear that I shall keep the confidences of Harry James Potter, provided doing so endangers not the honour, wealth, or lives of my clan."

Harry hadn't expected the caveats, but had to acknowledge that they were wise ones. At the same time . . . "Was that really necessary?" he inquired. At Gutsmasher's blank look, Harry elucidated: "The 'provided' stuff. What sort of circumstances would give you cause to violate my confidence?"

"I can think of none, but it is always wise to make provisions for the unexpected," was the reply.

"Now," Gutsmasher continued, "the circumstances which revealed your ancestry?"

Without preamble, Harry explained the little he knew. "It happened when I removed the blocks on my magic," he said. "It was rather violent. When I awoke, I was like this."

Gutsmasher looked at him, awaiting further explanation. When it was not forthcoming . . . "And you have no idea from whence it came?" he asked.

"I'm afraid not."

The dwarf regarded the boy curiously, then decided to make the offer. "With your permission, we might be able to trace your ancestry back to find whence your legacy originated."

Harry frowned nervously. Not having had more than a very few casual contacts with goblins, he had no idea of what they might be capable. "What does it entail?" he inquired.

Gutsmasher rose to his feet. "If you will follow me, Mister Potter?" he said.

Gutsmasher led Harry to yet another room, one wall of which was completely draped. The goblin drew the drapes aside, revealing a wall which had been carved to show two shallow rectangles stretching from floor to ceiling, with a three inch border. A bit over a metre from the floor, between the two rectangles, was an inset in the shape of a hand.

"By placing your hand in the inset, you would trigger the wall to take a sample of your blood. That will result in your family tree being drawn out on the wall: your father's ancestry on the left side, your mother's on the right."

Harry frowned slightly, then he strode up to the wall. To his surprise, the hand shape rose to a level where it would be more comfortable for him to access it. Harry glanced at Gutsmasher, but the goblin didn't reveal any reaction whatsoever. He placed his hand in the recessed area, and waited. A couple of seconds later, he flinched as the wall took the blood sample, even though he had been expecting it. It _did_ hurt, after all.

"Would you like a seat while you wait, Mister Potter?" Gutsmasher asked.

Harry looked around, and was surprised to find a couple of rather comfortable-looking overstuffed chairs just a couple of metres behind him, a round accent table between them, and a silver tea set on that. It hadn't been there when he'd come in.

"It can take awhile," the goblin explained.

"Thank you," Harry said, making his way to a chair and sitting down.

A few minutes later he noticed that the walls inside the rectangles had darkened considerably, and his parents' names had appeared in glowing letters – at the bottom of the wall. Slowly, lines appeared above those names, and then more names, more lines, and so on, the writing getting smaller as space became a premium the nearer they got to the top of the wall.

A bit over two hours after initiating the process, the wall ran out of room to write more names, although by that time the names were singular – no surnames – just names like 'Aonghasan, son of Oisean', and 'Malamhin, daughter of Beathag' (the 'son' and 'daughter' portion having been translated into modern English). Of course along with the Gaelic ancestors were a couple of Roman and Anglican names, as well as other names here and there from other invaders.

As Harry slowly traced another line up his father's family tree, Gutsmasher's voice broke into Harry's concentration.

"Ah! I believe this is what we've been searching for, Mister Potter."

Looking, he was surprised to see Gutsmasher poring over – not James Potter's family tree as _he_ had been doing, but his mother's.

"But she was muggleborn!" Harry protested.

Gutsmasher raised an eyebrow at the young wizard. "I believe that is not the case, Mister Potter," he calmly related, "as you can see for yourself."

As Harry perused the wall holding his mother's progenitors, he found that while she and Petunia _were_ related, it was four generations back, Harry's grandmother three times removed having married a squib who was from a long line of squibs. It was in that line of squibs that an unusual name made its appearance, nine hundred and sixty-seven years prior.

"T'Keltri?" Harry said questioningly.

"An elf name," Gutsmasher acknowledged.

"Dark elf?" the young man inquired.

Gutsmasher shrugged. "It's impossible to know merely from the name, but given your present appearance..." he said, letting the facts speak for themselves. He made a snapping noise with the fingers of one hand and within a minute three other, junior goblins joined them in the room.

"My staff," he said to Harry, by way of introduction.

"Make copies of this for Mister Potter's file," Gutsmasher said, turning to his staff and gesturing to the wall, "and search our records for any additional information and holdings to which Mister Potter may be entitled."

The three goblins bowed first to Gutsmasher, and then again to Harry, this time the bow being fractionally deeper.

"I assume copies will also find their way into the bank's own records?" Harry said, a rather sly, teasing smirk finding its way onto his face.

Gutsmasher refused to rise to the bait. "To facilitate our services to you," he said. "We pride ourselves on providing the best service to our more affluent clients."

"And your less affluent clients?" Harry asked, verbally poking at the goblin, who again refused to acknowledge the effort.

"We strive to always be efficient and accurate, Mister Potter," he replied. What was not said was that extra services were only offered to those who could pay for them, and weren't offensive in their manner.

Harry remembered his first year at Hogwarts, and decided to ask: "I know that nothing was stolen at the time, but a few years ago _someone_ broke into one of your vaults, here."

Gutsmasher's face reflected a fierce anger before he controlled it and answered the question implicit in Harry's statement. "Betrayal," he said with a sneer he couldn't quite repress, although Harry rather thought the anger reflected by the goblin's expressions weren't aimed at him. "Those responsible are no longer wasting the air we breathe."

Harry's short, swift intake of breath was his only visible reaction to that statement. These beings played for keeps! On the other hand...

"An apt warning against someone else attempting the same," Harry said approvingly. He was a bit aghast, but he could also almost understand their motives. After all, he had done almost the same in regard to Kreatcher.

Harry went back to perusing the wall. A few minutes later one of Gutsmasher's assistants came in carrying a leather folder, of which Gutsmasher relieved him.

"Here is a personal copy of your family tree, Mister Potter," Gutsmasher said, holding the folder out to Harry. "When we've completed our research would you like us to send it to you, or would you prefer to come in?"

Harry was stumped. "I've many things going on in my life at present," Harry said. "Could you send me an owl when you have the information? It would be better for me to make that decision at the time."

Gutsmasher gave Harry a shallow bow. "As you wish, Mister Potter, " he said.

Harry watched as the usual flock of owls (and the occasional other mail bird) delivered the daily mail at breakfast.

"It's rather odd, isn't it?" he remarked to Draco.

"What's that, then?"

"The wizarding world thinks of me as a hero or their whipping boy at any given time, and yet I rarely receive any mail," Harry replied. "One would think I'd get far more howlers than I do, anyway. And I never got _any_ mail before my Hogwarts letter."

Draco's chewing slowed considerably as he considered this. He'd never thought much about Harry's life or circumstances, even after their lives had become inextricably entwined. "You're right," he said slowly. "You should have been receiving offers to attend both social and political affairs, proposals of alliance and marriage . . . Not to mention updates from your Gringotts account manager, estate letters and—"

"Alright!" Harry broke in with a grin. "I get it!"

Draco smirked at him. "So what are you going to do about it?" he asked.

"I suppose I shall have to retain a solicitor to look into all of it for me."

"Which could take years," the blond dryly replied.

"What would _you_ suggest then?" Harry inquired.

"Since some of the correspondence affected came from Gringotts, why not put them on the case?" Draco shrugged self-deprecatingly (or tried to, at least), and continued. "Solve one mystery, solve them all, don't you think?"

Harry stared at his co-husband, then nonchalantly turned back to his breakfast. "I truly wasted the five years I spent in Gryffindor," he calmly said a minute or two later. "Just threw them away. And here I could have been learning to truly _think_!" He shook his head sadly at the folly of his youth, then took a sip of his coffee before casting a tempus. It was almost time for Charms.

"It may have helped, but somehow I doubt it," Draco replied with a smirk.

Harry smacked the back of Draco's head, before grabbing him and giving him a kiss.

"Thank you," he said, when Draco reluctantly broke off the kiss. "Although not for the insult," he added with a smirk.

Harry flopped down on an overstuffed chair, whilst Draco gracefully settled himself on the sofa.

"So what do you think?" Harry asked. They had just come from another Hogwarts Board of Governors meeting where the most important topic had been possible candidates for headmaster of the school, should Dumbledore be unable to fulfil his duties – for whatever reason.

"I don't think any of them are quite right for the position," Draco opined.

"Mm," Harry said noncommitally.

"And you?"

"I favoured Flitwick, actually," Harry admitted. "Who knew he was so old? I can understand him turning it down."

"And McGonagall?"

"She would be a good choice. She has a lot of experience. But as independant as she is in all other areas, I'm not sure she could disregard any 'suggestions' Dumbledore might give her."

"Then it's a good thing you brought that up," Draco said, and then began reciting the little speech Harry had given on the subject, capturing Harry's tone almost perfectly. "'I believe Professor McGonagall is very competent, but she has been under Dumbledore's influence for so long that I believe-'"

He was interrupted by the pillow that Harry had conjured and thrown at him. Draco looked shocked for a second as Harry stuck his tongue out him, and then both boys broke down laughing.

"But if a good candidate can't be found," Draco continued once they'd sobered a bit, "we might well end up with a Ministry-appointed lackey."

"It's too bad Remus is a werewolf. The governors would never approve him."

"He hasn't enough experience, anyway." Draco wanted desperately to sneer at the very suggestion of Lupin, but as it was a moot point, he held his tongue.

"Dumbledore isn't the only one wanting replacing," Harry said, going off on a tangent. "Binns is long overdue. Someone is needed there who can, if you'll pardon the expression, bring some life to the subject."

Draco snorted: delicately, of course.

"And Snape—"

"Professor Snape is brilliant!" Draco protested.

"Perhaps for Slytherins, although I don't know how, but he makes it damned difficult for everyone else in the school. He gives absolutely no grounding in the subject. Sink or swim, no instruction given, and the textbook doesn't go into enough detail."

Draco looked a little guilty, but didn't say anything. Harry noticed, anyway.

"Draco?" he inquired.

"There _is_ an instruction manual for brewing and preparation of ingredients, and a compendium of ingredient interactions that first year Slytherins are advised to send for as soon as possible," Draco admitted.

Harry's face froze as he restrained his sudden anger. "I knew Snape was sabotaging the education of most of the kids in the school," he said quietly, his tone strained, "at least in his subject, but I had no idea it was so deliberate and premeditated."

His face hardened. "And you want that to continue?" he asked.

"It _has_ meant less competition for us after school," Draco replied, somewhat shame-faced. He was too used to relaxing around his husband: allowing his honest reactions to show. It was hard, now, to hide them when they were alone. Not that Draco didn't do it; he was just uncomfortable with it – but only with Harry. He was still a Slytherin, after all.

"No wonder NEWT-level potions has been so Slytherin-heavy the past few years," Harry muttered, ignoring Draco's reply. If he didn't, he was afraid he'd snap at his husband, and that would only lead to a verbal brawl. It wouldn't be their first, but there was no good reason to have this one.

"What are the titles?" Harry demanded.

"'So You Want To Brew a Potion' by Ima Starr, and 'What Not To Mix, and How to Fix It If You Do', compiled by Correta King," Draco revealed.

"I've never even heard of those," Harry admitted, his cheeks flushed with anger, though not at his husband. He determined to put a bug in Hermione's ear, and let her spread the word. The fireworks should be splendid, when it got to the ears of the other heads of house. In the meantime, he had a bone to pick with his husband. Why hadn't Draco informed him of these books after they'd got together?

And they'd finally found the main entrance to the Chamber of Secrets – or at least Salazar had – hidden almost in plain sight. As one entered the huge double doors of the castle entrance, one was greeted with a spectacular sight: a huge foyer, the walls covered with Arabescato marble, and floored with Amadeus granite1, at the far end of which rose a double staircase, connected by a balcony. On the left, about ten feet before you got to the stairway, was an arched corridor that led, among other destinations, to the Great Hall. Directly opposite it was another arched corridor that led to classrooms, the headmaster's office, and the stairs to the dungeons. Below the balcony . . . Centred between the twin staircases was what looked like a white marble altar. It could actually, at one time, have been used as one. It was three feet tall, four feet wide, and two feet deep. Behind it, seemingly carved into the wall of the alcove, was the Hogwarts shield, and there was a suit of armour on either end, about three feet away from the altar. On the altar itself were two huge vases filled with flowers, branches of leaves, or anything else of the season which was decorative.

The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets? In the wide alcove behind the armour and altar, hidden by a thin marble facing. People stared at it all the time, not realising it was there.

But until the Chamber was drained, the entrance couldn't be revealed. Dobby was working on that now. After much research, he'd come across a mention of a drain system for the two pools used to teach swimming – a must at the time, when drowning was used as a means of determining whether one was a witch or not. He had yet to find the activating mechanism however, whether magical or mundane.

o~~~~~~~~~o~~~~~~~~~o

1. Both from Italy

**A/N:** Yes, this the last of what's been written, and as per the warning in the first chapter, this story may never be updated. By the way, I'd like to thank everybody who left a review for this story. You're great!

**Omake** by Catwriter:

Harry followed the goblin to the rear of the bank. They entered a room that had large double door with in laid gold filagree pattern. In the room was a large ornate desk with a large leather wing back office chair with its back to the door. The chair swung around and there sat the largest goblin Harry had ever seen. He had to be four and half to five feet tall. He had the build of triathlete, and looked to be middle aged if that term applies to goblins. The Goblin stood walked around the desk and stood in front of Harry who had walked a dozen paces into the room.

They stared at each other for a second before the large goblin dropped to his knees and placed his forehead to the floor.

"My lord, we thought you all have left us. We are please to see that you have returned."

Harry stood there shocked, 'What was the goblin talking about?' "Um, who are you?" Harry asked confused.

"I am sorry my lord, I am Ragnarok, Chieftan of the Goblin Nation and President of Gringotts." The goblin said without looking up at Harry keeping his face to the floor.

"Sweet Jesus." Harry said, "Up man, stand up that is no place for the leader of a nation."

"Nay my lord I'm not worthy, I doubted we would ever see you again." The goblin wimpered.

"What?" Harry said, then he thought, 'Oh no, please don't let this be what I think this is...'

"Chieftan Ragnarok, um, would your race happen to think dark elves are deities?" Harry asked nervously.

"Of course, my lord, we are the children of the earth, we have long known of the Gods. Some call you Dark Elves but we know you to be our gods. The keepers of the earth, the bringers of the rain, the lords of the fire, and the guardians of the winds and the masters of lightning. All hail the lords of the Earth." Ragnarok said his head never leaving the floor, his voice filled with reverence and awe.

"I really couldn't be normal if you held a wand on me." Harry muttered to himself.

end.


End file.
